


Broken Song

by Decim



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Long-Term Relationship(s), Lyrium Addiction, POV Alternating, Personal Growth, Sexual Content, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 134,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decim/pseuds/Decim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remy Hawke and Knight-Captain Cullen have been entangled with each other since their first meeting… she’s made sure of that. What started out as an ill-advised affair quickly grew into something more, though circumstances made that certain lines could never be crossed. Once she leaves the city and her position as Viscountess they say goodbye for good, not anticipating that only a year later they will meet again when the world is coming to an end.</p><p>An alternate version of Dragon Age: Inquisition in which Hawke attended the Conclave and became the Herald, with flashbacks to Dragon Age 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Letter to a Friend

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Hi-res](http://decimk.deviantart.com/art/Broken-Song-FanFiction-Cover-540433898)

> _Dear Varric,_
> 
> _Hopefully the raven you sent will manage to find you again during your crossing. Maybe I should use a seagull instead? Anyhow, I don't know how you got yourself captured and dragged off by a Chantry army (seriously, I'm disappointed), but don't worry. You're sweet to protect me, but I was heading in that direction anyway, so I'll make a detour to Haven. When this reaches you, please inform the Seeker I respectfully decline her position of Chantry puppet. I am too busy living my dream of being a traveling minstrel. I will however take a guided tour of the temple and attend the Conclave if that is of use to anyone, though I can't see what good it will do. Color me surprised if the mages and templars manage to be in one room for longer than a day without getting into a giant catfight. Don't unpack when you get there, bet you three sovereigns the thing will already be over by that time. Since we're on that side of the sea anyway, we might as well take a vacation. Get a tan... or pneumonia, since it's Ferelden. Have fun with the seasickness!_
> 
> _See you soon,_
> 
> _Hawke_


	2. The Wrath of Heaven

Remy felt her magic surge and coil in her stomach. The closer they got to the Breach, the more it writhed inside of her like an angry snake. The gaping hole in the sky pulled and tugged at her core, while the faint whispers of demons slithered through her mind. The thin air made it hard to breath, but she sucked the cold in sharply through her teeth and focused on shutting them out. The spirits died down, but instead phrases from the Chant of Light sprung up in her head. She shook her head and scoffed a bitter laugh.

“Can’t get away from you, can I?”

“What?”

Cassandra turned around, her sharp eyebrow raised high. Remy wasn’t sure if her stern expression was a permanent feature of her face, or if she just reserved it for her. She wondered to what detail Varric had read her letter to the warrior. Knowing him, he’d most likely been torn between being tactful and the urge to rub her refusal in the Seeker’s face after they took him against his will. Judging from the scowl she wore whenever she looked at her, he’d leaned towards the latter.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Let’s keep going.”

After just a few more steps up the muddy path the mark on her hand stung painfully, causing her to trip and fall to her knees. She cursed under her breath and Cassandra glanced back over her shoulder.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” she observed.

“Whoop-dee-doo,” Remy grunted as she struggled back to her feet.

 

“The rift is up ahead, you can hear the fighting.”

“Who's fighting?”

Cassandra paused a moment. “You'll see,” she grunted.

Remy heard the answer before she saw it. Through the clatter of swords, the song of magic, and the moaning of demons, there were the distinct clicking and shooting sounds of a crossbow. A very particular crossbow in fact, one that she could recognize from a mile away.

It only took her a second to spot Varric when she reached the battle site, his back turned towards her, rapidly shooting bolts as demons closed in around him. With a flick of her staff she threw a defensive barrier over him and he turned to look at her, unfazed by the demons mindlessly banging on the shield around him. He gestured up at the sky and mouthed an insult at her, and she made a rude gesture in return before charging in.

There was a handful of soldiers in the fight as well as an elven mage. As soon as the last demon went down he appeared next to her and lifted her hand up to the rift. It closed.

“Well…” she said. “Fuck me.”

Varric sighed. “Life’s never dull with you around, Hawke.”

They pressed on through the demon filled valley while Varric filled her in on what had happened since the Conclave. The last she remembered were a few awkward days where she’d camped outside the village to avoid the angry stares from both mages and templars alike as they trickled in to attend the meeting. When the actual event had started she stayed in the background, waiting for the moment she would be called upon to testify, until… nothing. Somewhere around that time Varric had arrived in Haven and witnessed the Void literally breaking loose. Hundreds of people dead, a demon spewing hole in the sky… the whole world believing she was responsible because she stumbled out of a rift, the only survivor.

“Sounds like a regular Tuesday in Kirkwall,” she said dryly.

“As much as I love our adventures, Hawke,” he chuckled, “this is a new level. Even for you.”

She couldn’t disagree with that.

They reached the entrance to what once was the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The building that had stood tall only a moment ago in her mind was nothing more than some broken walls and piles of rocks. Several soldiers were stationed there, though most of them seemed to be heavily injured and at the end of their rope. Remy paused at the top of the stairs, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come.

“So,” she said conversationally, attempting to distract herself from the destruction around them, “it’s raining demons and I am the biggest scourge in the world. Got any other fun surprises?”

Varric cleaned some demon ooze off Bianca with the back of his sleeve. “Well…”

She arched an eyebrow in expectation, but he didn’t continue. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the crossbow, continuing to rub the same spot with disproportionate conviction, even for him.

“You’re going to strip the varnish if you keep that up,” she laughed. “What’s going on?”

As she watched, a green glow washed over him and grew into a blinding flash. The impact of the comet sent them flying, knocking her several steps down the stairs and forcing the air from her lungs when she landed on her back with a crash.

Cassandra was the first one on her feet. “Another rift!”

Remy quickly bounced up. Solas had already run after the Seeker, shielding the reckless warrior with barriers. She pulled Varric to his feet and they chased after them, throwing themselves into the fight.

She’d caught a glimpse of the Inquisition’s ‘army’ when she first arrived in Haven. While it hadn’t been large, it had definitely been bigger than the tiny group of soldiers that was now battling with the growing horde of demons. The last couple of days must have been agony for them, even worse than how it had been in Kirkwall after the invasion or the rebellion. She danced between them, throwing fire and lightning left and right and bashing anything that managed to come close with her staff, while the green of her barriers reflected in the battered armor and shields as she tried to cover those most tired or wounded. Though she and Varric had not travelled together for some years, they easily fell back into their old routines. Any time she left an opening he was fast and precise in closing the gaps in her defense, while she kept the monsters from overwhelming him.

A rage demon exploded in front of her as she pulled her staff from its body. She was about to turn towards another on her right, when a flash of red caught her attention through the vapor. Further away from the main battle was a warrior in ornate armor expertly fighting off two demons. She considered throwing a protective spell his way, until she noticed another two starting to claw their way out of the ground behind him.

“Cover me!”

Varric grunted in acknowledgement and she ran through the skirmish, dodging her enemies as they lunged at her and hearing his bolts take down the ones that got too close. The demons had almost fully emerged when she skidded to a halt behind the knight. She took up her battle stance, body poised and staff at the ready. It flashed through the air, becoming almost a blur as she blocked, parried and cast. She swept it low over the ground, conjuring a wall of flame that engulfed the creatures. They reeled back, shrieking, and vanished. There was hardly a moment to catch her breath, however. Their places were taken by new ones almost instantaneously, while the sounds coming from behind announced the arrival of another demon for the knight to deal with.

A quick glance around the battlefield was no more encouraging. Slowly, but surely, the soldiers were being pushed back by the ever replenishing group of demons. The fear was clear on their faces, the mental and physical exhaustion simply too much. Remy watched one of them stumble, a mistake that was immediately punished by a terror demon digging its claws into his chest. She gritted her teeth and struck out to her own assailants on instinct. Spikes of ice shot from her hand, freezing them in place momentarily, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she focused on the magic coursing through her veins.

The Veil twisted around her, wisps of the Fade drawing close as if pulled in by a magnet. She lifted her staff and brought it down with force, causing a ripple to pull through the earth from where the tip pierced the ground. A low rumble sounded in the distance, steadily coming closer until it grew into a thundering roar that drowned out all other noise. The first fireball struck the ground in front of her feet, obliterating the demons before they had a chance to thaw. The knight backed up against her as he moved out of range of another one landing on his side, and within seconds fire was raining from the sky. Her eyes darted across the field, guiding her charges towards their targets, while she ignored the voices shouting in her mind. The moment the last demon was destroyed she lifted her hand to the rift. It closed, just like the ones before it, and all went still.

The effort of the spell rushed over her, blackening her vision and making her head swim. She breathed heavily, leaning on her staff for support and clutching a stitch in her side. Varric appeared next to her a moment later.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, wheezing. “Being unconscious for three days and having a cursed hand takes a toll on one’s constitution.” With another long breath she straightened herself up. “Now, what were you not telling me before?”

His eyes moved shiftily to a point behind her and he motioned with his head. The knight she’d fought beside had removed his helmet, revealing amber eyes that were looking at her with apprehension. She inhaled sharply as old wounds she had tried hard to ignore ripped open.

Cullen inclined his head to her. “Hawke.”

She swallowed.

“Surprise…” Varric mumbled behind her.


	3. 9.31: One Night

“Knight-Captain.”

Cullen groaned and turned around. “Serah Hawke… always a pleasure.”

The autumn wind that swirled around the courtyard stirred the short strands of her raven hair. Her smile was teasing, her blue eyes as striking as always. Now that the season was beginning to turn she’d added a short fur that lined her shoulders to her raggedy leather armor. It looked new and he wondered if she’d gone out and killed the animal herself or if she’d gotten lucky with one of her back alley jobs.

“Now, Knight-Captain,” she murmured, pouting slightly. “What’s with the sour mood? Did I not convince those mages to come to your prison?”

He sighed. Despite the many rumors about her, there was no denying that she added up to be a positive influence in the city. Furthermore, she showed surprising support for the templars, something he was not accustomed to in Kirkwall. Yet there was something about Hawke that was… unsettling.

“My apologies, serah,” he said, inclining his head to her. “I am grateful for your assistance. The Starkhaven mages have settled into the Circle.”

“I hope they’ve been treated fairly.” Her expression had turned serious. “I wouldn’t have convinced them to go if I didn’t believe you’d take care of them.”

“That… I would?” He blinked, feeling slightly taken aback.

“Of course. I’m sure there are some good men among your colleagues, but you are the only one I know who’s in a position to make a difference.”

She shifted her weight to her other foot and looked to the side, suddenly interested in a group of templar recruits that were talking further away. He felt grateful for her distraction, for his face suddenly became strangely hot.

He cleared his throat. “You were right to convince them.” Her eyes snapped back to his. “And… thank you.”

At this she turned her head to face him again and smiled. It was not her challenging smirk from earlier, but a warm and inviting gesture. The back of his neck flushed with heat, making him reach for it without thinking.

“…Was there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually,” she nodded. “I came to ask if you want to join me and my friends at the Hanged Man tonight.”

This he had not expected. “Join you… at the Hanged Man. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem,” she chuckled. “I mean for drinks. You know, being social? We’re pretty good company, you might enjoy yourself.” Her smile had turned playful again, as if slightly mocking him.

“Ah… I, erm…” If he had any hope of hiding his blush before, there was no chance of it now. Color rushed to his face and he kicked himself mentally, without effect. “Thank you, but no. I can’t.

“Are you on duty?”

“No, but —”

“Then you can and you should. Everyone needs to relax once in a while, even you. I know your colleagues prefer the Blooming Rose, but my guess is you’re not the type.” She looked him over, smirking. “Now, _we_ are going to get drunk and have fun tonight and I would like for you to be there too. So don’t disappoint me.”

Before he could process what she had said, let alone formulate an answer, she’d turned and walked away. His eyes lingered on the back of her head and followed her spine down to her hips, watching them sway with her every step. He was not going, of course. She looked back when she reached the stairs and he felt himself flush all over again, realizing she had caught him staring. A knowing smile played around her lips before she spun round and skipped down the steps.

No, he definitely was not going.

 

That evening he found himself standing outside the dingy bar. He had turned around several times on his way, ready to go back to the Gallows, but somehow managed to end up in the street anyway, staring at the sign above the door. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more nervous than he had in a long time. Just as he decided to head back a final time, the door opened.

“Hey Curly, saw you loitering out here. Hawke said you might join us. Come on in already.”

It was Varric, the dwarf that usually accompanied her wherever she went. Cullen didn’t know him well, but had heard enough about him to be on his guard. He also didn’t care much for the nickname Varric had seemed fit to bestow upon him no more than five minutes after their first meeting. He couldn’t very well leave now anymore though, so he sighed and followed him inside.

The smell of spilled ale and smoke was sharp in his nose when he stepped through the door. He shrugged off his cloak as the warmth of the crammed tavern washed over him. The room was completely full. Soldiers, merchants, gamblers and random drunks sat and stood around, but it only took him a second to spot Hawke within the crowd. She was sitting on one of the tables, her feet on the bench and her companions around her, dressed in a simple black top and a messy layered skirt that reached down over her scuffed boots. There was a pint in her hand and she was talking animatedly with a member of the Guard.

Varric went ahead and left Cullen to linger near the entrance, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. It wasn’t that he’d never been in a bar before, but clearly he did not belong here in the way that she did. He was entering her world now and despite her inviting him into it, being there made him feel like an intruder. The sound of her laughter carried over the other noise in the den, making his neck flush once more as it reached his ears. He wished it would stop doing that.

Her attention was drawn away from the soldier by Varric’s approach and she leaned down to speak with him. A moment later she quickly straightened up and searched the room until her eyes found his. She fixed him with an almost predatory look, her mouth resting in a triumphant smile. He stood frozen as she bounded off of the table and came towards him, dexterously weaving her way through the masses. It gave him a slight twinge of triumph to see the defeated look on the soldier’s face as she left him behind, but it was instantly squelched by his growing nerves.

“Knight-Captain…” She leaned into him, lightly tracing the tips of her fingers over his abdomen. “You came.”

He swallowed and forced himself to return her smile. “So it would seem. Eh, thank you… for the invitation.” He knew he had completely failed to hide his insecurity when she looked at him with a mixture of amusement, pity and… endearment?

“Of course, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s get you a drink, shall we?”

She gently placed her hand on his to guide him to the bar and soon they were both holding a fresh pint as they made their way back to the table. He’d only seen some of her friends before and was quickly introduced to the rest, though be it briefly. A dark haired woman with a cleavage so deep it didn’t leave anything to the imagination looked at him like he was a piece of meat, and he wondered if it was just his imagination that Hawke quickly steered him away from her. The female elf regarded him rather shiftily, but was perfectly polite. Less so was the man introduced as Anders, who glared at him in a way Cullen wasn’t sure he’d let him leave the bar alive if he had the choice. They stared at each other for a long moment, an unmistakable feeling stirring in his stomach, before she took his hand again and led him to the far end of the long table where she sat them down with Aveline, whom he knew from his work with the Guard, and Fenris. Cullen wasn’t sure about the moody elf at first, but he showed an unexpected interest in the Order and had some interesting stories to share himself. Varric was the undeniable center of the party, raising a hand in greeting to anyone who entered and entertaining the group with his tales.

Throughout the night Hawke seemed to be paying a great deal more attention to him than the others at the table, leaning into him so they didn’t need to raise their voices over the din. On occasion her lips would brush against his ear as she asked him about himself or shared gossip about the other patrons. He found he didn’t mind her questions, though he had avoided them from others, and she listened with interest to his answers, which few people ever did. Against all his expectations, Cullen found that he was enjoying himself. As he felt the buzz set in from the beer he caught himself staring at her more and more. He noticed how her nose crinkled slightly whenever something made her laugh, watched her eyes light up when she told a story, and couldn’t help but breath in deeply at her scent whenever he caught it. On occasion she would touch him on his arm or let her hand rest on his leg, leaving the places where her fingers had been strangely warm.

“Come on then, Hawke,” Varric called. “Let’s give the people what they want.”

Before Cullen could register what was happening she had gotten up and followed the dwarf to the corner of the room where some instruments were lying about. He moved over to sit next to Fenris, who noticed his puzzled look.

“They sing,” he explained, “and Varric plays the lute. They’re quite famous among the patrons.”

And within a moment Varric indeed began to play and Hawke sang along with him. Cullen leaned back and watched them with curiosity. Her singing voice was soft, breathy… seductive. To his surprise many of the patrons knew their songs and sang along. She was beaming, her eyes glittering in the dim light, her smile bright like the sun. It was hard not to be affected by the joy that seemed to be radiating from her and watching her filled his chest with a warm, tingling sensation. After a couple of songs she leaned over and whispered something to Varric. He nodded and kept playing while she walked back over to their table.

“All right, Knight-Captain,” she smirked, cocking her head to the side. “On your feet. You’re dancing with me.”

Cullen blinked several times in quick succession. “I… I don’t dance, serah.”

She sighed and leaned forward over the table. “Aw, come on. I’ll take care of you.” Her face was close to his and if he looked down he could see far down her shirt.

“I would, really,” he stammered, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her face. “I just, don’t.”

She whined and lay down flat on the wooden surface, her arms stretched out in front of her as she looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry… I can’t —”

“Come on then,” Fenris said, slamming his mug down. “I’ll dance with you.”

He got up and took her hand, pulling her up from the table and taking her to the center of the room where the other patrons cleared a space for them. As he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, Cullen felt a sharp tug in his gut. She cast a long look in his direction before turning towards her dance partner. A seductive smile played around her lips as she whispered something in his ear and for a moment Cullen thought he saw the elf glance towards him. Then he took a step forward and began to dance.

Cullen didn’t know the first thing about dancing, but he felt relatively certain this was not the type you would see at any respectable ball. Their bodies were close to each other as they turned and swayed. Over time her hand slid up from his shoulder while he lifted and lowered her, taking a hold of his hair instead. The rhythm slowed as the song drew to a close and they revolted steadily on the spot, their faces inches from each other, noses practically touching. Her mouth was slightly open, her chest heaving from the exertion.

As he watched them, he couldn’t help but imagine himself in Fenris’ place. Her hand in his, his arm wrapped around her back, her curves pressed against his body... her lips close enough to kiss. The music stopped and he snapped back to reality. The elf said something in her ear and she threw her head back laughing. He now had both his hands on her hips while she tenderly petted his chest. The sight quickly chased Cullen’s daydream away, replacing it with annoyance.

Next to him, Aveline got up from her seat. “I’m leaving. Will you tell Hawke I said good night?”

He cast another glance at the other side of the room. Fenris and Hawke had walked over to Varric, his hand still lying idly around her waist.

“Actually,” he said, “I think I’ll go as well.”

 

Outside, Aveline bade him good night and walked off in the direction of Hightown. He took a few steps towards the docks, breathing in the night air. It helped clear his head a bit, though the sour feeling wouldn’t subside. If only he’d agreed to dance with her. Then again, he would have been lucky not to trample her, let alone dance the way Fenris had done. He shook his head, trying to clear the image of them together that seemed to have been burned into his mind, and let out an annoyed groan as he kicked against an empty crate lying in the gutter.

“Cullen?”

He spun around, almost losing his balance, and Hawke grabbed his arm.

“Steady on, Knight-Captain,” she laughed. Her pupils were wide from the alcohol and an easy smile rested on her face as she looked up at him, though her expression turned serious when she spoke again. “You didn’t say goodbye. Did you not enjoy yourself?”

Her hurt expression caught him off guard and he moved in on her, unconsciously placing his hand upon her waist.

“No! I mean, yes! I did. Thank you. I’m just on duty tomorrow and you seemed… busy…”

His voice trailed off as he realized how close he had gotten to her and he prepared to move back, until he caught her eye. The smile was back and before he knew what was happening, her hands were sliding up his arms, onto his shoulders and behind his neck. His breath grew shallow, making thin clouds in the night’s chill. She pulled herself towards him, closer and closer, until he was sure she could feel his heart hammering underneath his ribs, while his hand unconsciously slid to the small of her back.

“What… What are you doing?”

Her breath was warm on his face as she shushed him and brushed her lips against his, her eyes half closed. For a moment he hesitated, but then he pressed his mouth on hers, grabbing onto the back of her head to drag her in. The taste of beer was still on her tongue, mixed with something sweet and a hint of smoke. Her fingers grasped his hair and he moved his hand down, causing her body to curve against him, her hips pressing hard on his as she pushed deeper into the kiss. A rumbling moan started in his stomach, rapidly rushing up through his chest with the building pressure in his gut.

He pushed her backwards into an alley and up against the tavern wall. Her fingers clawed into his shoulders as she pulled herself up and wrapped her legs around his waist, while she laughed breathily in between kisses. With one of her hands traveling down his chest to pull at his breeches, he pushed up her skirt, feeling himself press against her until she used her hand to guide him in.

The moan that escaped her as she closed around him was unlike any other sound he’d ever heard before. Primal, sensual… filled with desperation for him and his touch. He began to thrust, inhaling sharply through his nose as she kept her mouth firmly locked to his. His movement quickened in response to the rising fire in his body and she released him from the kiss, squealing with pleasure.

“Hawke…” he growled in her ear.

“Please,” she gasped. “Keep going. It’s… all right.”

He gripped her thighs with such force as he climaxed that later he would wonder if it had left her with bruises. As he stopped moving, her body started to shake and shiver, tensing around him with every violent spasm that tore through her abdomen.

Then they were both still, their bodies heaving against each other as they tried to catch their breath. She had wrapped herself around him, her thighs still clenching down on his waist and her arms holding him close. He leaned forward, pushing her against the building to reduce the weight on his legs. For the longest time he didn’t move, while his mind tried to wrap itself around what had just happened. The noise from the tavern was clearly audible through the wall, the people inside only a couple of inches removed from them, yet somehow feeling like they were worlds away. The smooth stone was cool against his forehead, her breath hot on his neck as she kept her face pressed into it.

Eventually the chill worked its way into their clothes and flushed skin, sending a shiver through her body, and he lowered her to the ground. She leaned back against the wall while she rearranged her skirts and looked at him through her lashes as he fastened his breeches.

“Sorry to keep you,” she smiled, in a way that did not make her seem particularly sorry at all. “Work in the morning and all that.”

“It’s just guard duty. I can snooze if I lower my visor.”

“Oh, templars,” she laughed. “Your devotion inspires us all.” She leaned in and kissed him. Slowly, tenderly, her hand lingering on his face and tracing down his chest when she stepped back. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered, “Knight-Captain.”

He watched her walk back to the tavern door. Before she went back inside she looked at him over her shoulder, a secretive smile playing around her lips. A long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding escaped him the moment she was out of view. He turned around and started his way back to the docks, feeling strangely lightheaded.

 

The feeling persisted for several days. Whenever he noticed himself daydreaming about her he kicked himself mentally. He was a grown man. By the Maker, he was the second in command! But thoughts of her kept surfacing and he felt himself flush like a schoolboy whenever he recalled her smell, her voice, or her touch. When she failed to show herself after a week the giddy feeling started to wane, instead being replaced with uncomfortable doubts.

One moment he told himself the whole thing had been a drunken mistake, one she did not wish to repeat. The next he was convinced it had been deliberate, but nothing more than a one-time occurrence; a moment of passion, the kind he’d never pictured himself ending up in. Meaningless, and not to be taken seriously. Something she could have done with anyone, and perhaps did on a regular basis. This particular thought made his stomach turn. The theory that hurt him most however, painful as it was to admit, was that his inexperience had left her unsatisfied and she simply did not wish to waste any more time on him. He pictured her laughing with her friends after he’d gone, mocking him. Her laughter was as cold as the winter winds that had started to blow against the Gallows and rang in his ears even after he’d willed her image from his mind and tried to focus on his duties.

He got his answer a few days later when Carver Hawke presented himself to him with the wish to join the templars. Noticing the anger in the young man’s eyes, Cullen questioned his motives.

“Serving the Order is a noble cause, Knight-Captain. Also I can be sure —” He paused a moment, clenching his jaw while he considered his words. “It’s something I can do without being in my sister’s shadow. I have to find my own purpose, I can’t be following her every whim any longer.”

Cullen swallowed. “What would be her latest whim?”

“Expedition into the Deep Roads,” he scoffed. “Months in the planning, but one night Varric drags her home completely shit-faced and next thing I know she’s gone, telling me to stay at home because it’s too dangerous.” Color flushed to his cheeks and he quickly closed his mouth, evidently worried he said too much. “Please, ser… I want this.”

Cullen took a moment to consider. He did not particularly like the boy’s reason for joining, but neither was he in a position to turn down an able warrior.

“Very well. We’re starting training with a new group of recruits tomorrow week. Get your affairs in order and report for duty the night before.”

Carver nodded fervently and quickly turned away.

“Serah,” Cullen called after him, “did your sister say anything else before she left?”

“Not really, ser,” he said. “But she may have rushed their departure because she got herself into trouble… _again_. I heard her talking to Varric about not being sorry to get out of town for a while, whatever that was about.”

He shrugged as he turned away and Cullen watched him leave, his stomach twisting into a painful knot.


	4. Nine Lives

Varric hadn’t left her bedside since they carried her down from the mountain. Now he was staring at her, unmoving, not even acknowledging Cullen when he entered the cabin or the healer working around him.

“Commander, can you tell him to get out?” complained the man when he saw him. “I can barely reach my patient.”

“Leave him be.”

He stared at him before stomping out of the hut, muttering something under his breath. Varric glanced over when the door slammed shut behind him. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Cullen walked over to stand next to him and looked down on Hawke. Cassandra had been furious when the raven arrived with her letter, though he couldn’t tell if it was because of the cavalier rejection or the fact that she hadn’t caught Varric’s lie. Varric hadn’t looked too pleased himself that Hawke decided to attend the Conclave despite his efforts to keep her away, but hadn’t been able to contain his smirk as he relayed her words to them. The remainder of the journey to Haven the Seeker had been in a foul mood, Varric awfully chatty, and he himself suffering from uncomfortable nerves.

Soon after their arrival the world had exploded and the Inquisition’s small army, and he as their new commander, had begun their brutal initiation. He didn’t have a chance to wonder where she was, too busy trying to contain the endless onslaught of demons spilling from the rifts, until she fell out of one herself. His soldiers had been close to striking her down on the spot, enraged at the lone survivor — the infamous mage from Kirkwall — and he had to pull his sword on them to get her out alive. 

As soon as he’d carried her out of the wreckage he had to return to the fray, hardly having the time to sleep, eat, or think, only focused on staying alive until he felt the familiar pull of her magic suddenly appear behind him on the field. Somehow it hadn’t come as a shock to see her carried down the mountain on a stretcher twice in under three days… she’d always had a flair for drama.

Varric sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Judging by the dark circles around them he clearly hadn’t slept much either. According to Cassandra he’d raged outside of the prison cells when he hadn’t been allowed to see Hawke after they found her. Eventually he decided to help out on the mountain, but only because Solas convinced him they should clear a path for her for when they would try to close the Breach. Now the dwarf looked defeated as he sat beside her, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low. 

“I told her not to go,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Not that she ever listens.”

Hawke stirred under the covers when Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Is she going to be okay?”

“In between complaining, Grumpy seemed optimistic. Doesn’t change the glowing hand though.”

“She’s tough. It’ll take more to bring her down.”

“Even a cat only has nine lives, Curly. Hawke used up a few too many already.” 

They sat in silence a while, the only sounds in the cabin her raspy breath and the crackling of the fire. Her leg brushed against him as she turned to her side and he unconsciously placed his hand on it.

“Why do you think she turned Cassandra down?” he asked. “Didn’t take the position of Inquisitor?”

“I hope it wasn’t your idea to nominate her for that.” The dwarf’s voice cut sharply through the silence, while he shot him a look that was uncharacteristically harsh.

“No, it wasn’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “I only met Cassandra because she came looking for her.”

His face relaxed. “Right…” he said softly. “Of course. Sorry.”

“You don’t think she’d be good for it, though? She did well after the rebellion, knows what needs to be done and makes sure it happens.”

Hawke muttered something in her sleep and her face contorted into a pained frown. Varric reached over to hold her hand, which seemed to calm her down. 

“You weren’t around her much in that time, Curly,” he said quietly, gently rubbing her hand between his. “The fact that she stepped up doesn’t mean she was well. She’s been through enough, the last thing she needed was becoming the leader of a Chantry organization or some Fade shit on her hand.”

Cullen watched him as he spoke. There was a distinct sadness in the dwarf’s eyes that made him wonder what he’d missed during the time they tried to restore order in the city. It was true they hadn’t had much contact and what little there was had been strictly work related, but whenever he had seen her she seemed perfectly fine. A little tired perhaps, but so they all had been. 

Hawke had relaxed again and snuggled against her pillow, causing a strand of hair to fall over her face. Her skin was soft under his own cracked fingertips as he reached up to brush it back. She stirred slightly, responding to his touch like a cat being stroked. His pulse quickened in an instant and he breathed in deeply as he let his fingers trace down the side of her head. Her effect on him had not lessened a bit.

He caught Varric looking at him and quickly withdrew his hand. “I should get back to work.” In a few paces he was at the door.

“Careful, Curly,” the dwarf said behind him. “Don’t go there again unless you’re sure.”


	5. 9.31: Voice of Reason

Remy shivered as she stepped back inside the warmth of the tavern and made her way to the table, which was practically empty by now. Anders had left early, probably once he’d figured out his angry glares were not going to make Cullen vanish or die horribly. Merrill had stayed longer, but also seemed to have gone by now. Likely she was crashing in Varric’s room, since none of them liked the idea of her walking through the city at this hour by herself. Fenris sat with his eyes closed, lazily leaning back in his chair as he balanced it on its hind legs, while Isabela, like usual, seemed to have vanished into thin air. Remy chuckled to herself, wondering which poor sod the rogue had targeted this evening and would wake up the next morning with his pants down and his coin purse missing. As she walked across the room she could feel Varric’s gaze following her from the bar, but she ignored him.

Fenris opened his eyes at her approach and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. _And?_

She sat down and smiled broadly, her mind too fuzzy to formulate a proper answer.

“Well,” he smirked, “next time you want to make a guy jealous, you know where to find me.”

He downed the last of his drink and got up, roughly tussling her hair on his way out. She leaned on the table, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, and closed her eyes, enjoying the haze in her head, the warmth in her chest, and the slight burn between her thighs.

Varric slammed down two new drinks onto the table, making her jump. He sat across from her, his expression serious as he slid one of them in her direction.

“What are you doing, Hawke?”

She took the drink and smiled sweetly. “Having a drink with my bestest friend?”

He didn’t laugh. “You know what I mean. If I know you, and I think I do, you just turned Chantry boy’s world upside down. You’re an apostate, remember? Given how visible you’ve made yourself it’s a wonder you’ve been able to stay out of the Gallows until now. Is your infatuation with the knight-captain really worth the risk?” When he said Cullen’s title his voice almost became an uncharacteristic sneer.

“It’s my risk to take,” she shrugged, rolling her mug between her hands as she leaned back in her chair.

“Indeed,” he nodded, “though I’d hate to see you locked up, especially before we’ve been able to go to the Deep Roads.” A smile flashed in his eyes. “But have you thought about what this will mean for him?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Within a flash the buzz was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. “What do you mean?”

Varric frowned. “What do you think will happen to someone in his position who has an affair with an apostate? It won’t matter if he knows about her being a mage or not. That guy Samson got kicked out for carrying _letters_. With Meredith in charge, Curly is lucky if he doesn’t get burned at the stake… Is that your risk to take too?” Remy looked down into her pint, letting the words sink in. “I’m sorry, Hawke,” he continued in a softer voice. “This is not going to end in anything but misery.”

Her breath came out uneven when she exhaled. She continued to nurse her drink, unwilling to meet his eyes. He was right, of course… he usually was, loath as she was to admit it. She wanted to kick herself for how selfish she’d been. Naturally she had considered the risks involved in pursuing Cullen, but she had dismissed them without much thought. Having remained undetected by the Chantry her whole life, seeing how close she could get to the templars had become a game of its own. The knight-captain that fumbled when he described prostitutes had seemed like an interesting target to keep her entertained for a while. But now it was different. Not only had she found herself far more attracted to him than she had so far dared to admit, she hadn’t given one thought to how he might be affected. 

She breathed deeply a few more times, replaying the evening in her head. A smile spread across her face as she felt his touch again on her skin, his breath in her hair, his eyes on her when he thought she didn’t see him looking. Then she pushed it out of her mind and locked it away.

“I’ve got the money,” she said. “Tell your brother we’ll leave for the Deep Roads as soon as possible.”

Varric regarded her for a moment, then nodded. They both drank deeply from their mugs, each of them lost in their own thoughts.


	6. The Threat Remains

Remy paced through the cabin, a torrent of unidentifiable emotions swirling through her body and stirring up her magic. She’d woken up a short time ago to find Varric sitting next to her and he’d filled her in on what happened since they tried to close the Breach.

It had not been sealed, but it had stabilized. The mark had stopped growing with it, which meant she was out of danger for the moment. Somehow she had gone from being the most hated person in the world to being called ‘the Herald of Andraste’. Once again the masses were proving themselves impressively inconsistent in their opinion of her.

“Why… is _he_ … _here_?” she hissed.

“That’s your first question?”

“ _Varric!_ ”

The shutters on the cabin windows fluttered and he glanced towards one when it slammed shut. “Will you reel it in?” he said dryly.

She halted and took a deep breath, rapidly tapping her foot on the floor to channel the energy in some other way while she waited for him to answer.

His eyebrow was raised high as he looked her over, shortly lingering on the patch of ice on the floor that expanded slightly with every tap of her toes. “The Seeker recruited him into the Inquisition in Kirkwall when they came looking for you. He’s the commander of their forces.” He paused, evidently considering his next words carefully. “He left the templars.”

She huffed in disbelief. “Trading one army of the faithful for another does not equal ‘leaving the templars’, Varric. If it walks, talks, and thinks like a templar, it’s still a templar.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because,” she groaned, “it was finally over.” She shook her head and laughed bitterly at the situation. “Why did I ever go to that rotten Conclave? I never wanted to be a part of this Inquisition, but I just _had_ to get involved, didn’t I? Now I’m stuck with a hand that might kill me and of _all_ the knights in Thedas… he is the commander of their fucking forces.” A headache began to grow behind her eyes and she reached up to rub her temples in an attempt to avert it. Varric watched her silently for a moment before he got up.

“The Seeker wanted to see you when you woke. She’s in the Chantry,” he said as he made his way to the door. “Hawke, if it affects you this much, it isn’t over. Maybe him being here will be a chance to finally put it behind you.” She glared at him. “Save your evil stares for someone who hasn’t carried you home drunk,” he chuckled, “and don’t keep the Seeker waiting too long, she’ll probably find a way to blame it on me. She’s still pretty pissed I lied to her about you.”

Remy huffed. “Well, you brought that on yourself,” she said, but followed him out anyway to make her way up to the Chantry, doing her best to ignore the people staring at her as she walked by.

 

Chancellor Roderick stormed out the door, much to Remy’s relief. She flipped through the book Cassandra had thrown on the table, skimming over the information while keeping her attention on the two women still in the room with her.

“We are not ready,” Leliana said. “We have no troops, no leader…” She glanced at her. “And now, no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice.” Cassandra rounded on Remy. “You turned down the position of Inquisitor before —”

“Still am.”

A muscle twitched in the warrior’s jaw. “Given the situation I am not sure it would even work in our favor if you accepted now. To say that opinions about you are divided would be an understatement. But whether you want to be here or not, you are involved. We need your mark to close the Breach. Help us restore order, before it is too late.”

Remy looked up from the book. “Believe me, Seeker, I was a terrible pick for the position. Now that you’ve spent some time with me you must see that too.” She paused a moment, weighing the decision in her mind. “But the threat of the Breach is clear and it seems you are the only ones interested in fixing it.”

Cassandra angled her head slightly. “Then…?”

“I’m good in a fight and will fling my hand at rifts if you need me to,” she shrugged. “If that helps, good. Just don’t let me make any decisions.”

The warrior smiled as she held out her hand and Remy shook it. _Never a dull moment indeed._

 

She managed to avoid Cullen for the larger part of the day, a feat she found quite impressive given how small of a town Haven was. Unfortunately Cassandra felt that, as their Herald, she should be part of the pending meeting in the war room. “Just let me know how it was and what you want me to do,” Remy grunted, returning her focus to her sketchbook. A sharp pain shot through her arm as Varric punched her in the shoulder. “Ouch!”

“Don’t be a wuss,” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” With a sigh she shut the book and got up, rubbing the sore spot on her arm. “Lead on, Seeker.”

Cassandra had raised an eyebrow at their exchange, but didn’t comment. They walked through the village together, a heavy silence hanging between them. Remy focused her attention on the activity around them in an attempt to make the awkwardness less apparent, but it didn’t help much. She wondered to which extent the Seeker was still pissed at her, but wasn’t sure how wise it was to ask.

“I am sorry,” the woman said suddenly.

She turned her head in surprise. “Whatever for?”

“For how I treated you before,” she said, coming to a halt halfway down the Chantry. “Varric and Cullen both told me there was no possibility that you were guilty. But I was determined to have someone answer for what happened.”

"Oh, don’t worry about it," Remy shrugged, feeling an strange twinge at the idea that Cullen had come to her defense. “I’ve had worse than being shaken up a bit. You had a lot more reasons to be pissed at me than some other people in the past.” The mark tingled slightly and she glanced at it, telling herself she’d have to study it more closely later. It seemed unlikely she would uncover anything that Solas hadn’t already though. Academics had never been her strongest suit.

“Does it bother you?” the Seeker asked.

“Not really,” she lied. “But not remembering how I got it is… frustrating.”

“I can see why,” Cassandra nodded. “Perhaps we’ll find the reason for your memory loss. For now we need to focus on closing the Breach. Solas believes a second attempt may succeed, granted the mark has more power.”

“Sure, let’s overcharge the magical mark that no one understands. Sounds like fun.”

“Hold on to that sense of humor.”

“It is my finest quality,” Remy sighed dramatically. “Do you have a plan to power up this thing?”

Cassandra looked away and shifted her weight. “We have ideas, but are not… quite in agreement as to how we should proceed. Come, I’ll explain in the war room.” She gestured towards the back of the hall and they continued to walk.

“I hope you don’t want me to break a tie, Seeker,” Remy said, looking at her from the corner of her eyes. “I told you, you shouldn’t let me be a part of decisions.”

She laughed. “Decisions will have to be made, Herald, and they will affect you. How long do you think you can keep yourself out of them? Besides, I’m having a hard time believing the Champion of Kirkwall will simply follow what someone else decides for her.”

Remy shot back an icy glare at the Seeker’s smug expression. “It’s worth a try.”

They reached the door. Cassandra paused with her hand on the handle, tilting her head towards her. Her eyebrows drew down slightly and she gave her a look that was hard to interpret. Serious, though her sharp features made that true for most of her expressions, but something else as well. Concern, Remy realized, in the same way that her mother had looked at her at times. “We all have regrets, Herald,” she said. “But they don’t change who we are or how we deal with the situations we face.”

“Time will tell, Seeker,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

The warrior huffed and her lips curled into a smile. “Yes, rather soon, I think.” She pushed open the door and went inside, while Remy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before following her in.

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Hawke. I have heard much about you, of course.”

Remy smirked. “Most people who’ve heard of me are not so polite. Either you have different sources, Ambassador, or you will be a great opponent in Wicked Grace.”

“I’ll gladly play cards with you once we close the Breach,” Josephine answered, smiling brightly. “As for my sources, most of what I heard came from our commander.”

She swallowed and forced herself to maintain her smile as she let her eyes sweep the war table before looking up. He was regarding her with a soft smile, a hint of caution in his eyes. “Only good things, of course,” he asserted. There was a scar on his lip she had not noticed before. It was rather becoming.

“You know Cullen, of course. He is the commander of our troops,” Cassandra stated.

“Such as they are,” he replied. “We’ve lost a lot of people in our initial attempt to close the Breach. I am… glad to see you’re all right.”

Remy inclined her head in response and was relieved when Cassandra moved the focus to Leliana, who turned out to be the Inquisition’s spymaster - an interesting occupation for what she remembered to be a very bright-eyed Chantry sister.

“Cassandra tells me you have a plan?” she inquired once introductions were over.

“We need enough magic to strengthen the mark,” Leliana replied. “That is not something that is easy to come by. We will need to approach the rebel mages for help.”

Cullen shook his head. “And I still disagree, the templars could serve just as well. They could suppress the Breach, weaken it so —”

“Pure speculation.”

“ _I_ was a templar… I know what they’re capable of.”

Remy watched him out of the corner of her eyes. He glanced at her briefly, but turned away in an instant, while Josephine silenced the argument for the time being. The meeting ended with Leliana mentioning a Chantry mother who had asked to meet ‘the Herald’. Remy was glad at the request, getting back on the road with Varric would be a welcome diversion, though it became clear she might as well have been talking to a wall when she said they shouldn’t involve her in decisions. The mark tingled again and annoyance rose in her chest, partly for the glowing scar and partly for the readiness of the others in the room for her to be their advocate in the Hinterlands.

“That’s settled then, we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Cassandra announced. She turned and left the room, followed by Leliana and Josephine. Remy watched them go, but didn’t move.

“Hawke…”

The tenderness in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. She slowly turned around and couldn’t help but smile at the worried look on his face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He sighed and his expression relaxed a little. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d end up in the middle of this.”

“Tsk,” she huffed in mock offense. “You’re one to talk.” She picked up one of the tokens from the war table and turned it over in her hands. “It’s been a while. You look well.”

“It’s... yes, you too. You... let your hair grow long.”

“Hm?” She looked up and grabbed a strand hanging down the side of her face. “Ah, out of laziness more than anything,” she smirked, shaking her head to make the dark locks dance on her shoulders. “Fits my new vagrant lifestyle. You like?”

A short laugh escaped him, hardly more than a breath. “Yes… It suits you.” His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, his amber eyes fixed on hers.

“Not sure that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it as such,” she smiled and gestured at her mouth. “What happened?”

“Oh, this?” His hand reached up to touch the scar. “Fellow templar actually. He thought we should join the others who went around hunting down mages like crazed animals. I didn’t agree.”

Remy moved around the table, dragging the tips of her fingers along the edge. “Glad to hear it.”

He cleared his throat. “Where have you been?”

“Phew, all over really.” She turned to the table and traced the route she had taken. His arm brushed against hers as he stepped closer to look, sending a shiver through her body. “Went to Weisshaupt first, but the Wardens there were no help at all. I eventually was able to contact one I met in Kirkwall that was willing to talk to me. Something weird is going on there and I’m not much the wiser yet on the red lyrium to be honest. The amounts of the stuff we saw at the temple…” She twisted the token in her hand and swallowed. “…That’s really bad.”

He’d been observing her quietly. “I was worried about you.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper and smooth as velvet.

She looked up. His face was closer than she had anticipated and her attention was drawn to the white mark running up from his lip. Though she would have done a better job at healing it, she couldn’t deny its aesthetic value. “I can take care of myself,” she replied.

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-smile, making the scar twitch. “Don’t I know it.”

“I…” She hesitated, looking away. “I’m glad you got out of Kirkwall. I wasn’t sure…”

Suddenly his hands were on her waist, grabbing a hold of her clothing and dragging her towards him. The sound of the token falling to the floor reverberated against the stone walls. His fingers firmly stroked towards her back, while his breath was hot on her neck as he buried his face in her hair.

“Maker… I’ve missed you.”

She stroked the back of his head and nuzzled his neck, breathing in deeply. His smell was familiar and comforting, yet there was something different she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I’ve missed you too,” she whispered.

For a long moment neither of them moved until she pulled away swiftly and made her way to the door.

“Hawke.” She froze, the door handle cold under her palm. “Do you think... are we okay?”

The words stung in her chest and she breathed deeply before she turned around. “Cullen,” she sighed, “when have we ever been something as simple as that?” Before he could say anything else she had shut the door behind her and paced out of the Chantry.


	7. 9.32: Promises

After hearing of her departure, Cullen had resolved to let himself think of her no more, which of course meant he thought about her all the time. As time passed by, he managed to push her out of his mind for longer stretches, sometimes going large parts of the day without her interfering with his thoughts at all. But as new stories of her adventures reached the Gallows, he couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks and listen intently whenever he thought he heard someone mention her name. Whenever something reminded him of her he felt an uncomfortable pull in his stomach and his mood grew increasingly dark with the shortening of the days.

He couldn’t have missed the news of her return even if he’d tried. After the year had changed and the first signs of spring began to show themselves, the whole city was suddenly abuzz with excitement and her name was on everyone’s lips. Not only had they survived the expedition, defying the reports that they’d perished underground, they had returned with riches beyond imagining. There was not a trader in town who did not tell his customers the story of the Hawke family, the refugees that had managed to work their way out of Lowtown and reclaim the Amell manor.

With her tales of triumph came the return of the rumors and they were told louder than ever. Gossip had always surrounded her, though Cullen had dismissed it without much thought. He had seen her fight. She was quite an expert with daggers, and not once had he felt even a hint of magic around her. But the stories persisted and he could no longer ignore them.

She had rooted herself firmly in his mind, showing up in his dreams whenever he closed his eyes. For the last years it had been Neria, the Hero of Ferelden, laughing at him, teasing him, toying with him. Amidst the wreckage of the Circle, constant screams from the Harrowing Chamber in the background, she stroked him, purred in his ear, tempted him with promises he had so longed for whenever he had stood guard and watched her from afar. Hawke had taken her place, looking breathtakingly beautiful and menacing at the same time, doing unspeakable things to him. Her laughter was sharp when she ridiculed him for the effect they, and she, had on him. Night after night he woke up drenched in sweat, the blanket painfully twisted around him, his frantic mind failing to untangle dream and reality.

“Fucking a mage and you don’t even realize it,” she had sighed in his ear. He still felt her tongue trace around his lobe and she chuckled when his hips twitched in response. “Look at you… Some templar you are, Knight-Captain.”

 

It was cold on the night he found himself crossing the channel from the Gallows to the mainland. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his body and drew the hood low over his eyes, shielding his face from the sharp wind that blew in from the north. He had woken up from another dream and not even reciting the Chant of Light had let him shake it from his mind. For a moment he’d contemplated asking for more lyrium, but thought the better of it, despite not being able to recall the last night he’d slept for more than a few hours.

Without paying much attention to where he was going he walked into the city, driven only by the wish to be as far away from his bed as possible. Dark figures slunk into the shadows at his approach. A dog barked in the distance. Somewhere overhead raised voices were arguing... Something broke and a window slammed shut. He was bathed in sudden light as a door flung open, letting the noise of a drunken crowd spill out onto the street. He halted and blinked, surprised to find himself outside the Hanged Man.

A man and a woman came stumbling out, indistinguishable from each other when the door closed behind them and they were engulfed in darkness, so entangled they were as they pushed their way into the alley next to the building. Cullen’s stomach twisted painfully. He retreated to the other side of the street and leaned against a wall. _You idiot_ , he told himself, banging the back of his head against the stone. _You stupid, stupid idiot._

The noise from the tavern swelled as the door swung open again and a familiar voice made his eyes snap open. “Want me to walk you home?”

“Nah, don’t bother. Did you see how big my house is now? I think I’ll be able to find it.”

Varric laughed. “Just be careful, Hawke.”

“You and mother need to start a club. See you tomorrow.”

The dwarf went back inside and she walked off. Cullen hesitated, but his legs acted before his mind could and he followed her down the street. Though she moved at a leisurely pace, he almost lost her several times when she took an alley or jumped a wall for a shortcut he wasn’t familiar with. She was clearly at home in the dingy streets, weaving her way between the buildings, avoiding trouble makers and finding the quickest way home.

On a small bridge she suddenly vaulted over the railing to the street below and disappeared around a corner. Cullen quickly gave chase, using the steps to go down instead, and followed her into the street. It was empty. He took a few steps forward, but froze as the sharp point of a knife pressed against his back.

“Not that the whole lurking in the dark thing is not adorable,” she murmured next to his ear, “but it’s a bit of a risky way to meet a girl. Especially with the suspicious ones like me.”

“Hawke…”

He felt her move back in a flash and turned around, lowering his hood. She had stepped back several meters and the knife was no where to be seen. “Maker’s cunt, Cullen,” she breathed, “what are you doing stalking around at night? You’re lucky I have this obsessive thing about making a joke before I stab people.”

He swallowed. He didn’t know why he’d chased her, or made any plan as to what he would say to her if he caught up with her. Now that she was standing in front of him he felt the memories of his dreams seep into his exhausted mind. His breath grew labored under her piercing stare and her icy laughter echoed in his head, causing his mind to throb painfully.

“Cullen?” Her voice sounded far away, though she was moving towards him. “Are you okay?”

“Is it true?” he heard himself say through clenched teeth.

“Is what true?”

A muscle twitched painfully in his jaw. “About you. You’re a… a mage.”

“Ah…” Her face fell. “Yes, that’s true.”

“You lied to me.”

“I did not,” she replied quietly. “You never asked.”

He felt his temper rising and the pressure in his head sting behind his eyes. She looked at him with a mixture of guilt and concern, but through it flashed a malicious smirk. “What did you do to me?” he sighed.

“What?” she replied, nonplussed. _I played you, you silly boy. And you made it so easy. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it?_

He bore his fingers into his temples. Her mouth had not moved, but her voice cut through his head like a cleaver. He shut his eyes tight and tried to will it away, until he was startled by her hands closing over his. Her touch was soft and she gently pulled them away from his head.

“Cullen, look at me.”

Through his eyelashes he saw her face, only inches away. Her eyes were fixed on him.

“Listen closely.” Her voice was stern, but tender. “I never used magic on you and I never will without your permission.” He lowered his hands. Her warmth spread through his skin, drawing him back to reality, and he blinked against the fatigue suddenly washing over him. As her features cleared, the demon faded from his mind. Her smile was warm and inviting, without a trace of contempt or ridicule, while she held his fingers tightly in her hands, her thumbs gently rubbing his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I couldn’t tell you.”

He breathed deeply and a shudder ran up his spine. “I… We slept together.”

“Well,” she smiled, “I wouldn’t call it sleeping.”

“You're a mage.”

“I am. And look at you!” She moved her hands to the sides, spreading his arms as she eyed him appraisingly. “You’re totally fine!” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Well, you look a bit haggard, really. But you are fine, right? Everything still attached?”

“Yes… What? Maker’s breath, shut up, will you?”

She chuckled, the sound soft and bright. It sent a warm spark through his chest and he huffed a short laugh of relief. Her hand reached up to stroke a stray strand of hair back and she let her fingers softly trace down his cheek on their way down. “You look like you could use a good night’s sleep. How about I walk you back to the docks?”

 

They went slowly, walking shoulder to shoulder, and she told him of the expedition. They’d found a strange kind of lyrium which made Varric’s brother lock them in a vault, after which they had to fight their way through ancient stone spirits to get back to the surface. Cullen shook his head and laughed. If it had been anyone else telling him the story he wouldn’t have believed it. After her return to Kirkwall she’d worked tirelessly, trading favors and pulling strings, to get her mother’s estate restored. She’d barely settled in when the first requests for help and advice started to flood her mailbox, sent by residents of the alienage, to the Viscount himself, and everything in-between.

He informed her of events at the Circle. Though they were nowhere near as exciting as her stories, she listened to him with interest. Her eyes lit up when he mentioned how well Carver was doing in his training. “I’m glad he’s found a purpose he finds fulfilling,” she smiled. “I’m afraid we’ll never be on great terms, my leaving him home from the expedition pretty much cemented that for good, but I want him to be happy. Thanks for looking out for him.”

“You’re welcome. He’s a good lad.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “he is.”

By the time they reached the docks the moon was beginning to fade, the first light of the sun painting the sky a deep mix of purple and pink. The wind had turned and a soft breeze blew in over the water, stirring her hair. She breathed deeply and looked across the harbor to where the Gallows lay.

“Do I need to be worried?” she asked, turning to face him. “I moved recently, can’t say I feel like packing again.”

He hesitated and glanced at the tower. “I don’t know. Meredith hasn’t been seen out much lately, but she’s bound to hear about you sooner or later.”

“What about you?” Her expression was neutral as she waited for his answer.

“I have no desire to press the issue,” he replied, hoping he didn’t have to find out what he would do if someone else would.

She inclined her head a fraction. “Thank you.”

They stood next to each other on the pier and looked out over the water. Seagulls screamed above their heads and dove into the water, angling for fish. A boat approached from the distance, the sound of a horn signaling its arrival to the dock workers that had emerged to begin their work day. He didn’t know if it was because she’d moved or he had, but her hand grazed against his, the tips of her fingers gingerly touching his palm, and he grabbed on to it. She rested her head on his shoulder and he caught the scent of her hair. It smelled of flowers, with a hint of smoke.

“Don’t disappear on me again,” he whispered.

She raised her head. “I won’t,” she replied. “I’m sorry.” He smiled, the last of the tension that had taken hold of him over the last weeks fading from his chest. She returned his smile and squeezed his hand before letting go. “I should head back, catch some shuteye before Varric comes banging on my door. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I’m glad.” Her eyes shifted back to the Gallows. The sun had come out and was shining strong, the yellow light reflecting softly on her skin. Now that she was standing next to him he didn’t know how he could have confused her so with the creature in his dreams. He watched her closely, intent to commit every detail to memory as not to have her image corrupted again. “I think I’ll keep my distance for a while,” she continued. “Don’t want to press my luck. We’re… good though, yeah? If you ever need anything…” She looked up, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a gentle smile. “You know where to find me.”

He nodded and watched her leave. At the start of the pier she turned around. “Don’t feel bad, all right? I've spent my whole life hiding from the Chantry, I’m very good at it. You really couldn’t have known.” She smiled apologetically before turning away and swiftly disappearing around a corner.

He sighed and returned his attention to the water. His next shift would start soon. Staying awake for it would be a challenge, but a comforting thought surfaced in his mind. At least he’d be able to sleep tonight.


	8. Back on the Road

With having spent the last week largely unconscious it was a relief to be back in the saddle. Remy had found Tempest - her mount - on a farm outside of Kirkwall. His owner was ready to put him down since he refused to work the plow, but she had taken an instant liking to the young gelding. He was not too big and sturdily built, with a chocolate coat and blond mane. Though he wasn’t the fastest horse she’d ever ridden, he was strong, stubborn, and loyal, with the constitution of an ox. Now he was fretting under her, bursting with energy from being cooped up in the Inquisition’s stable since she left him there to attend the Conclave.

As soon as she was out of view from Haven she turned to her party. “I’ll see you down below.” Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, but she was already gone.

The wind rushed past, stinging in her face and causing tears to stream down her cheeks. Tempest snorted and leapt over a small crevice, his hooves thundering on the rocky surface of the mountain. She only kept a light pressure on the reins. The gelding didn’t need her guidance, he always found the safest route without fail, better than she ever could. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain she felt completely refreshed and Haven, the Breach, or Cullen couldn’t be further from her mind. Tempest came to a halt next to a creek and she swung her leg over his neck to dismount, loosened his saddle and let him wander around the field. She was splashing water in her face when her companions caught up with them.

“That was most irresponsible, Herald.” Cassandra threw her a scathing look.

“Calm down, Seeker,” she smiled. “I know my horse, there was no danger.”

The warrior didn’t look convinced. “You are our only means of closing the rifts. You should not take unnecessary risks.”

Remy got up and shook the water from her hands. “If I didn't take those, Varric would have had to write a very boring book about me. But don’t worry, I got it out of my system. No more risks on this trip.”

Interestingly, her expression softened. “Well,” she mumbled, “maybe some risk wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Be careful, Seeker,” Varric grinned. “Once you start down that road with Hawke, you won’t be able to get back.”

Remy chuckled. This was going to be fun.

 

It didn’t take long for her to realize ‘fun’ wasn’t quite an appropriate description for the situation in the Hinterlands. Meeting Mother Giselle was unremarkable and she was skeptical as to what appealing to the Chantry could accomplish, but there was enough else to do in the area that gave immediate and more satisfying results.

The conflict was far worse than she’d imagined. She knew the area well, despite not having set foot in it for over ten years, but it had changed to a point almost beyond recognition. Mages and templars were at each other’s throats, both blinded by hatred and rage, attacking anyone in their path. After trying to reason with the first few groups they encountered and almost being skewered or burned alive as a result, she gave up any further attempts and in a matter of days they’d cut down more men and women than she had since the Kirkwall rebellion. She was only mildly surprised at how quickly she got used to it again as she pulled her staff from the chest of an elven mage. Like so many others he had recognized her and charged in, blind with fury. Her Elvish was not great, but good enough to know he hadn’t yelled anything complimentary. Now his eyes were wide and empty as they stared up at the sky. She sighed and bent down to close them.

“Are you all right?” Solas was standing over her, eyeing her with curiosity.

“Oh yeah, just the past kicking me in the face.” She straightened up to look at him. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised… but you don’t seem to have a problem with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why would I?”

“Are you serious? With your observational skills you must have noticed the general response I get from other mages.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered her. “I have not been to Kirkwall, but I have observed enough other such incidents. They are never so black and white as people make them out to be.” He gestured with his staff to the bodies lying around them. “You should also consider the possibility that, in view of the bigger picture, our actions rarely are as important as we think they are.”

“That is… refreshing to hear. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He gave her a small smile and inclined his head, before turning away to help Cassandra and Varric pile up the bodies.

They had been traveling for about a week and were on their way to mark out locations for watchtowers, when the Seeker rode up next to her. Remy cast her a short glance, before returning her attention to the front. A few times she heard the warrior shift in her saddle, or open her mouth to speak before closing it again.

“You killed the Arishok,” she blurted out eventually.

“That I did.”

“How?”

“I thought the whole reason you manhandled Varric was to get information like that,” Remy smirked. “He tells it better than I do, I promise you."

“Well, yes.” The warrior shifted in her saddle. “But you were the one who actually dueled him. One on one. It’s just… impressive.”

“Says the woman who single-handedly saved a Divine from a flock of dragons.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “That tale gets more exaggerated every time it’s told.”

“Then you must know that mine likely aren’t as interesting as they’re made out to be either.”

“I suppose so,” Cassandra replied, raising an eyebrow. They rode in silence for a while. “Tell me anyway?”

“All right,” she laughed. “If you tell me yours.”

“Deal.”

She began to tell her of the invasion and found, to her surprise, that recounting it was not wholly unpleasant. Her inner monologue usually focused on the mistakes she’d made over the years and all the things she’d failed to do, but Cassandra asked her in detail about which spells she’d used and in which order to best the Qunari leader. It had been a good fight and the Seeker made for a good audience. Even Solas seemed to prick up his ears and watched her with interest as she told the story.

“So is it true that it was a friend of yours that had stolen the relic from the Qunari?” Cassandra asked.

Varric’s voice sounded from behind, giving Remy the chance to push away the uncomfortable feeling that surfaced at the mentioning of Isabela. “I am offended, Seeker,” he said, “that you feel the need to check the things I’ve told you.”

“I will always be checking the things you tell me, Varric,” she grunted.

They continued to bicker a while longer until Remy asked the Seeker about how she actually became the Divine’s Right Hand. She sighed and began to recount the events, to Remy’s relief forgetting about her earlier question, and they spent the rest of the day swapping stories.

 

That evening she lay in her tent, unable to sleep. It wasn’t anything new. During her time as viscountess she’d kept working until she finally passed out at her desk, perhaps sleeping an hour or two, before waking up with a start and continuing. Even before that time every night had been a challenge, demons and memories following her whenever she closed her eyes, and after she left the city it had not gotten much better. By now her body seemed to have gotten used to only sleeping a few hours a night and her own magic kept her going on days when it did cause her problems.

She was resting on her stomach, her arms folded in front of her, and flipped through her notebook. It had been a gift from her parents for her eighteenth birthday, but she hadn’t yet managed to fill the pages. Though she kept it on her at all times, it had been a long while since she looked through it.

It was strange to read some of the early entries. Some she remembered like it was yesterday, others might as well have been written by another person. There were a few sketches from people she knew in Lothering, though the proportions were off. Despite being alone she felt herself flush with embarrassment by some of the things she'd written, hardly believing she had once meant them seriously. She paused at a particular one and chuckled. It was a drawing of a templar that she remembered well, though her crude doodle did not do him much justice. _Couldn’t recognize a mage if she straddled him_ , she’d scribbled around his head. She hadn’t quite straddled him, but the young man had been delightfully dense. With a sigh she flipped further ahead and to her relief noticed a fast increase in her drawing skills as well as sophistication to her entries.

After meeting Varric she’d also started putting song lyrics in between the sketches and notes and though she hadn’t sung anything in years, she remembered every line as she read it. Though some were no more than crude drinking songs, there were also verses in there that surprised her with how good they actually were. She hummed one of the tunes quietly to herself, continuing to thumb through the pages, pausing on a portrait of Isabela. It was a good likeness, drawn in the tavern one time when they’d been drinking. She was laughing brightly, a beer in her hand. Remy felt a sudden pang in her chest, noticing how much she missed her friend. They hadn’t always agreed, but she’d been the most fun of their group. She still remembered the nights that they’d spent together fondly; getting drunk, flirting with whomever came through the door, dancing, and ending up passing out in her room. No doubt if she were here now she’d make endless fun of her for being called ‘the Herald’. Sadly she could not think back on her without feeling the slight hurt caused by her leaving. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand, but she’d thought - hoped - that she trusted her enough to know she would have protected her from the Qunari.

More drawings of her friends followed. Fenris by the fire in his house, drinking wine. Merrill looking with wonder at the city around her. Varric with the smirk on his face he had whenever he brought her a clever business proposal. She quickly passed the torn edge of the page she’d ripped out the night after the explosion, only to freeze on another drawing some pages later.

It was one of Cullen. There were more of him buried within the small book, but this had always been one of her favorites. Unlike some of the others she’d actually managed to get the texture of his hair correct and the look he had was so like him it was like he was standing next to her. She sighed, tracing his shapes with her finger.

Seeing him again had unlocked such a whirlwind of different emotions that it had overwhelmed her. Having spent a year in hiding, being alone most of the time except for her brief time with a Warden or two, had clearly had an adverse effect on her ability to control and mask her feelings. She wished now she’d been less dramatic when she left him in the war room and not so awkward until they left. Judging by his expression he’d no doubt be brooding over her behavior, though there was probably enough to keep him busy. Still, she’d be with the Inquisition for a while to come and the last thing she needed was having to worry about avoiding him whenever she was in Haven.

She told herself to find a way to smooth things over when they would return… something to let him know they could be around each other without it being a problem. Nothing came to mind and she dropped her head to the ground with a groan. If only she could trust herself more around him.

 

An idea came to her when they finally convinced Master Dennet to provide them with horses. They were walking through the stables and fields, looking at his charges. All of them were good animals; well built, with shining coats and clear eyes. Clearly the horse master’s reputation was not undeserved. At the very end of the field was a small paddock apart from the others with a single horse. Unique amongst the herd, it was a large grey stallion with attractive dapples in his coat. He looked up as she leaned on the fence and immediately trotted over, his dark eyes friendly and interested.

“Who’s this guy?” she asked, holding out her hand for the horse to sniff.

“Greyback, my prime stallion. He sired a large part of the herd you just passed,” Dennet replied, reaching up to pat the horse on the neck. “He’s a real gentleman, but won’t work for someone he doesn’t respect. I’d trust him with a child, but it takes a good rider to bring out the best in him. When they do, there’s no better mount.”

The stallion gently nipped at her ear and breathed loudly, tickling her neck. “I think I might know just the guy,” she chuckled. “Would you consider bringing him?”

“Who do you have in mind?” Dennet asked, frowning. For a moment she wondered if he was going to ask her to water his fields or trim his lawn before agreeing to give up the horse.

“The Inquisition’s commander. He’s the one who suggested I seek you out. Ferelden, highly ranked templar and most upstanding guy you’ll ever meet.”

“Templar, huh?” Dennet murmured, looking back at Greyback. “All right, Inquisition. I’ll bring him, but I won’t decide until I’ve seen this commander of yours.”

“Fair enough,” she smiled, “but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he said gruffly, but she noticed a small twinkle in the man’s eyes. He held out his hand and she shook it, before they continued on to discuss the travel to Haven.


	9. 9.32: And So It Begins

“… Hi.”

She turned around and stroked her hair behind her ear. “Hey you… How have you been?”

“Ah, you know.” He looked around the courtyard. “Same old. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” She reached into her bag and took out something that looked like a lump of meat that had been laid out in the sun for too long, shriveled and leathery. “Keeping busy.”

“What in Andraste’s name is that?”

“That would be a Varterral heart. I’m just dropping it off.” The eyes of the potion master lit up when she handed it over and he tossed her a bag of coins in return, before scurrying away with his new possession.

“Do I want to know more?”

“Probably not.”

“… Do you have some time?”

“Sure, ehm…” She looked around for anyone who might be paying attention to them, but the courtyard was fairly empty. “Shall we go for a walk?”

 

He led her down the steps that weaved in between the different buildings. There was a small platform at the back of the fortress. It lay level with the sea and there was a small wall surrounding part of it, separating the stone from the wooden dock that extended from it. He could only guess at what it had been used for, but now no one ever came there. They leaned against the prison and looked out over the sea.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Well...” She prodded the floor with her foot. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“You already have.”

“Cullen, I never meant —”

Her head banged harder against the wall than he’d intended as he stepped in front and pushed against her, running his hands up her sides and over her chest. It didn’t seem to bother her, for she stared at him for a moment, before grabbing his hair and pulling him in, her mouth hot on his own.

 

The sea crashed against the dock, spraying cold droplets on their exposed skin. Parts of their armor lay around them and the plating on his arms rhythmically scraped against the stone with every thrust. He pushed up from the ground and ran his thumb across her lip.

“Don’t stay away.”

“If Meredith —”

“Don’t... mention Meredith right now.”

“Right,” she breathed. Her eyes flitted back and forth. “Never mind.” He sucked the skin of her neck between his teeth and she curled against him, wrapping her legs around his waist to force him deeper inside of her.

 

“When do I see you again?”

She fastened her belt and grabbed her bag from the floor. “I've got some things to do,” she said, looking up. “But I’ll be back.”

“Don’t take too long.”

Her mouth curled into a smile and she bit her bottom lip. “Promise to do that again,” she whispered, leaning into him, “and you won’t be able to keep me away.” She kissed him roughly, holding him by the nape of his neck and sucking on his lip. With a grin she turned around and skipped back up the stairs.


	10. Dark Horse

There wasn’t a moment that Cullen did not feel grateful for the mountain of work he had to do. Mainly it felt good to have a purpose again that didn’t just feel like running around aimlessly and putting out fires, or a pointless fight to control the mage population. Secondly, it provided a welcome distraction from Hawke.

After their meeting she’d spent some time helping out around the village, but stayed as far away from him as possible. When they left, he’d watched them until they had completely disappeared from view, determined to make sure he no longer ran the risk of running into her by accident.

If the look on her face when she saw him at the Breach hadn’t been enough, her parting words made it painfully clear she didn’t want to be around him. She was stuck in the Inquisition - something she never wanted to be a part of - and he felt certain she wouldn’t have shown up at the Conclave at all had she known he was supposed to be there too. But as clear as she seemed in her feelings, holding her again had unlocked things that made him feel more conflicted than ever. The smell of her hair, the feeling of her familiar body in his hands… it had taken him all he had to resist the urge to sweep the contents off the war table and throw her down on it.

 

Fortunately it was well over a month before they returned, enough time for him to sort everything that she had stirred up away in its proper place. Cassandra wrote in several times to update them on their progress. He appreciated the efficiency of her reports, though her handwriting could use some work. From what he could decipher the situation in the Hinterlands was bad, but they managed to make a real difference to the people living there.

Staying in Haven while hearing about Hawke's activities felt strangely reminiscent of Kirkwall, even more so when she came riding back into camp with a herd of Master Dennet’s horses. She seemed to have reacquired some of her usual swagger as she gracefully jumped off her mount and instructed the stable boys where their new charges should go with an air of natural authority. Her hair swished over her shoulder when she turned her head. I really did look good longer. She laughed at something Varric said, the bright sound sending a trickle of electricity up his spine.

Not wishing to be caught staring, he returned his attention to the combat drills he’d been running with his soldiers. “You there! There’s a shield in your hand, block with it. If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.”

“Knight-Captain… so strict. I like it.” He turned around to find her watching him a little ways off, her mouth twisted in a teasing smile.

“That is no longer my title.”

She angled her head and observed him for a moment. “Come over here,” she said, motioning towards the herd. “I’ve got something for you.”

He followed her as she weaved her way in between the horses. In anticipation of her arrival they’d constructed pens and extra boxes to accommodate the increase in mounts. Now they were slowly being sorted into them by the men Master Dennet had brought along. The majority of the horses were clear Ferelden Forders - sturdy bays with different markings - though there were also some blacks and varieties of chestnut. She seemed to be looking for something in particular and searched the area as she walked, her own horse following behind her even though she wasn’t holding the reins. The gelding had been an absolute nightmare in the Inquisition’s stable while she was unconscious, but with her he seemed as gentle as a lamb.

Eventually she halted by the furthest pen, in which a small group of brown horses had been placed with a single white one among them. A light dapple grey and relatively big, the horse stood calmly among the others that were trotting around nervously from all the commotion. It looked up at their approach and came towards them, reaching its neck over the fence to search her outstretched hand for food. She chuckled and reached into her pouch for a hunk of bread, which it gently took between its teeth. As it chewed she stroked the large nose, which was slightly convex.

“This is Greyback,” she said. “Ten year old stallion, well trained. I tried him myself, he’s very responsive and doesn’t flinch at anything.” She stroked her hair behind her ear and gave him an uncertain look. “Do you like him?”

“He’s splendid,” he replied, reaching out to touch the horse on his neck. Greyback was sturdily built, with a strong back and legs and large dark eyes that looked around with a gentle curiosity. He had finished eating and sniffed at Cullen's hand for more, before reaching up to smell his face. The soft lips gently felt about to examine the new person in front of him and mussed up his hair. Cullen laughed and pushed the big head away. When he looked back at Hawke she was smiling gently, a hint of relief in her eyes as she petted the thick neck. “Did you bring him for me?”

She nodded. “You can pick any one you like, of course. But commander for the Inquisition should have a horse that fits the part, don’t you think?”

He felt his chest get warm, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

Someone called to them from behind and she turned to look. “Ah, Master Dennet. Meet Cullen.”

A gruff looking man approached and shook his hand. “Dennet,” he introduced himself. “So this is who you had in mind?” The horse master looked him up and down and nodded. “All right. When he’s had a chance to rest I’d like to see you try him, but I think you’ll do fine. Best horse I got, Commander. You do right by him, he’ll go through fire for you.” He turned on his heel and walked away, instructing his men as he went.

“Have you been talking about me?” Cullen asked, turning back to her.

“Only good things, of course,” she smirked. Greyback snorted and moved away, searching the ground for something to eat. “We should let him rest,” she said. “Walk with me?”

He followed her to the edge of the camp, her horse still trailing behind them, and they looked out over the frozen lake.

“So… How was it out there?” he asked, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Pretty crap,” she nodded. “Still, killing shit and fixing issues is something I at least know how to do. It feels good to be doing something productive. Distracts from the whole Herald nonsense.”

“You think it’s nonsense?”

“Cullen, please. You should know better than anyone there’s nothing holy about me.”

“You do swear a lot for a prophet.”

She laughed brightly. “Among other things.” Her horse nudged her back with its nose and she turned to stroke his head. “I’m sorry things were a bit… awkward when I left,” she said, glancing over. “I blame Varric for not giving me a heads up that you’d be here.”

“People seem to like blaming Varric for things these days,” he smirked.

“Well, so long as no one is holding _him_ responsible for the hole in the sky, I can't feel sorry for him,” she chuckled. “Anyway, I guess I needed some time to get used to the idea. I’ll probably be out on the road most of the time, but it would be great if things were normal between us.”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” she smiled. “In spirit of that… what do you have on your shoulders?”

He looked to his sides. “It’s a cloak. What’s wrong with it?”

“Is it though?” She walked around him, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized his armor. “That is a lot of layers. How is all that even attached?”

“For someone who claims not to care for clothes you tend to comment an awful lot on mine.”

“If you wore normal things I didn’t have to. Though it is an improvement over the skirt.”

“Not this again.”

She grinned and went to stand next to him. There was a long silence while they watched the white world in front of them, the clamoring of the swords and the whinnying of horses in the background.

“So…” she said, exhaling audibly. “We’re back in Ferelden.”

“Seems that way.”

“You doing okay with that?” He looked over to find her watching him with slight concern, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. “Things were pretty fucked up when you left.”

“As they were for you,” he replied. “I didn’t expect to return, but this is where we’re needed.”

“Always thinking about the greater good, huh?”

“Aren't you?”

She looked away and thought a moment. “Not as much. I just stick my nose where I shouldn’t a lot. Probably did so one time too many.” The Breach stirred angrily above them when she flexed the hand that carried the mark, as if it were calling out to it.

“Are you all right?” he asked, suddenly feeling stupid for not having asked her earlier.

“Oh, you know me,” she smiled. “Takes more to bring me down.” If not for his conversation with Varric at her bedside, he’d believed her without another thought. There was nothing in her eyes that betrayed anything even resembling worry or hurt, yet he had the uncomfortable feeling she wasn’t being completely honest with him. As he searched her face, her expression turned serious. “Do you blame me for turning down Cassandra?”

“… No.” He knew he’d paused too long the moment he said it and her eyebrow shot up in response.

“Really?”

He sighed and looked back to where his recruits were training, taking the time to carefully pick his words. “I think you’d do well as Inquisitor, but I understand why you declined.”

“I’m not sure you do,” she said, frowning. “I could barely keep my friends from killing each other, Cullen, not to mention I completely failed to prevent one of them from destroying half the city. Who am I to be the head of an organization trying to fix a crisis of this magnitude?” As perfect as her mask was before, now it was non-existent, the guilt in her eyes as clear as day.

“I think you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for,” he said quietly, wishing his words would make a difference, yet knowing in his heart that they wouldn’t.

She turned back to the mountains again and sighed. “Well… I’m here now, though be it under a different _title_.” The last word came out with a slight sneer. “So I’ll do what I can.” She angled her head towards him and looked him in the eye, searching for information. “You believe in this Inquisition?”

“I do,” he said eagerly. “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains.” He turned towards her, a desire to make her see the importance of their work burning in his chest. If only she could feel as he did, understand what sort of a difference they could make… maybe it would somehow make her feel better, even if it was only a little. “The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot,” he continued. “Our followers would be a part of that. There’s so much we can —” She was looking at him with her eyebrow raised high, her mouth pulled into a half-smile. The expression was one of amused endearment, one that she’d always reserved for times he talked about things that did not interest her per se, but she enjoyed listening to him talk about. “Forgive me,” he said, smiling. “I doubt you were looking for a lecture.”

“That’s quite all right,” she laughed. “I’m glad to see you excited about something. There wasn’t much of that in Kirkwall.”

She looked back at the camp and he followed her gaze. The horses had been placed in the correct pens and were now being provided with food and water. Their arrival had caused quite a stir and many of the villagers had wandered over to the fences to check out the new animals.

Cassandra was walking by his recruits and from her expression Cullen could tell she approved of the strides they’d made in her absence. Though not one to brag, he was quite pleased with the progress himself. They’d gotten many volunteers who could barely tell the hilt of a sword from the blade, but they were motivated and worked extremely hard. His chest swelled with pride as he noticed one of the boys that joined them only a few weeks ago pull off a tricky block, when he suddenly felt a light touch on his hand. He turned back towards her and found her looking at him, the blue of her eyes contrasting beautifully with the dark of the hair that framed her face.

“If you believe, that’s good enough for me,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you’re here, Cullen.”

“Me too,” he replied, gently taking her fingers in his. She sighed deeply, her eyes closed and her mouth resting in a soft smile, as she leaned in and touched her forehead against his. The gesture had become their custom over the years; simple, yet comforting. The feeling of resting one’s head, surrendering control for a moment and knowing there was someone close who cared… No matter the problems either of them had had, whenever they took a moment like this together it had always made things a little easier. For a moment he no longer heard the noises of the camp, no longer felt the stress of the work that was still ahead. Then his lieutenant called to him from behind and he pulled away with a start.

“Let me know when you’re ready to ride,” she smirked, stepping back and turning away in a smooth motion.

“What?” he asked, nonplussed.

She turned around and looked at him with her eyebrows raised, before breaking into a wide grin. “I meant your new horse, I want to be there when you try him out. But I like the way you think, Commander.” She winked and turned around, clicking her tongue. Her horse obediently followed her to the stables.


	11. 9.33: Skirts

It was the first night where it could be clearly felt how summer was just around the corner. The sun hung low in the sky and there was not a single cloud to block the warm evening light from reaching the city. They were leaning on the chest-high wall in what had become their regular spot at the back of the Gallows, sharing some wine she'd brought with her.

“Why do templars wear skirts?”

He raised his eyebrow and handed her back the flask. “It’s not a skirt.”

“What would you call it then?”

He glanced down at his armor, but could not think of a better word to describe the traditional templar gear.

“It’s a skirt,” she said flatly.

“Why do mages wear robes?” he retorted, slightly annoyed with her smug expression. “You all look like you never change out of your nightgowns. Also it makes no sense, why would you not wear armor? You leave yourself needlessly vulnerable.”

“Excuse me, it’s called ‘light armor’. And we don’t wear the heavy stuff ‘cause we have better things to do than muscle training, like setting stuff on fire.” She turned back to the sea and took a long drink. “In any case, I don’t wear robes. Everyone would know I’m a mage.”

“Fair enough.” He hoped the topic was finished with that, but soon enough she opened her mouth again and he dropped his head to his arms, groaning.

“Robes are at least scholarly,” she continued. “A skirt is just… a skirt.”

“It’s not a skirt.”

“ _That_ is a skirt.” She grabbed the fabric and pulled on it. “Here, look at it! Do you even wear pants under —”

The flask fell to the floor, spilling the remainder of the wine, as he seized her hand and forced it behind her back, pushing her down and bending her over the wall. He pulled down her pants and quickly undid his own breeches. She gasped a breathy laugh as he pushed inside, but soon enough she could only moan as he continued to move against her.

He leaned over her, holding on to the arm that was pressed in between them with one hand and taking a fistful of her hair with his other, roughly turning her head to the side so he could kiss her. Her eyebrows were knotted together, her expression a slight hint of pain mixed in with desire. He loved being able to make her look like this, her smugness from earlier completely dissolved. He released her arm and tore open her shirt to cup one of her breasts. She squealed and squeezed her eyes shut even firmer as he pulled and tugged on her nipple, twisting it between his fingers. It didn’t take long for his orgasm to rush through his body and he lay over of her while she continued to tremble underneath, tensing and relaxing around him.

 

They sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and reaching down into her shirt where he absentmindedly stroked the soft tissue of her breast. “Knight-Captain…” she sighed, “you are full of surprises.” Her eyes were half closed as if she might doze off at any moment, completely satisfied. It sent a twinge of triumph through his chest. 

“How was that?” he asked, wishing to hear her say it out loud.

A hint of defiance sparked back to life in the blue irises. “Not bad,” she smirked. “Especially for a man in a skirt.”

He leaned his head back and groaned, but listened with pleasure to her bright laugh as she hugged his chest.


	12. All in a Day's Work

Remy never liked Val Royeux. The few times she’d been there she couldn’t wait to get out. The ridiculous outfits, the scheming, the condescension… it was everything she despised and more. It was strangely satisfying to stride into the square and receive gasps of terror rather than the usual haughty glares at her mud-covered boots.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the only surprise the visit to the city held in store for them. The public attack on her by the Chantry had been expected, but the clobbering of a cleric by a templar was a sight she had not ever conceived possible.

“Well… that was interesting,” she muttered, after the knights had walked off.

“So much for the templars being your fans,” Varric smirked.

“Yeah, it’s official. Everybody hates me.”

“Oh, poor you.”

“Sad, right? I’ll need to drown my sorrows in the first proper tavern we come across.”

“Lord Seeker Lucius was never like this,” Cassandra added, confusion still written across her face. “Some of the templars must still remember how you supported them in Kirkwall.”

“A lot has happened since then, Cass,” she replied. “Trust me, most templars forgot a long time ago.”

They made their way out of the city when a voice called to them from behind. An elven mage stepped out from hiding, eyeing her suspiciously, and Cassandra and Solas identified the woman as Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the mage rebellion.

“I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” she said. “Imagine my surprise when I heard that she and the mage hunter from Kirkwall are one and the same. It seems your friends the templars have turned on you the way you have turned on your fellow mages, lady Hawke.”

“Someone wrote a book about my so called mage hunting days,” Remy replied, rolling her eyes. “You should read it, Grand Enchanter. You may find that my fellow mages were not such darlings themselves.”

“Tell me something then,” she said, frowning. “You were at the Conclave, correct? Were you there working with the templars?”

“You mean: did I cause the explosion and kill the Divine for them?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she said simply. “Call me a hypocrite if you want, but I’ve never been a liar. I do not remember what happened at the Conclave, but I do know I arrived there alone, disliked by both templars and mages. My only intention was to testify to the events in Kirkwall.” The elf continued to stare at her without speaking and it was starting to get on her nerves. Remy shifted her weight and placed a hand on her hip, feeling increasingly tired of having to explain herself to complete strangers. “Not that I don’t enjoy a good debate,” she said, trying hard to keep the frustration out of her voice, “but I assume you had another reason to talk to us than rub my lack of friends in my face?”

The mage raised her eyebrow. “You came here seeking help with the Breach, no? Perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“You… want to work with us?”

“We are willing to discuss it with the Inquisition, at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both after all.” She inclined her head and walked away.

As she watched her go, Remy quickly went through the exchange in her head, trying to make sense of it.

“Well…” Varric said, coming to stand next to her. “That was unexpected.”

“Quite. How desperate do you think they are if they’re willing to talk to me?”

“Very,” Cassandra replied.

“Thanks, Cass.”

The warrior huffed a short laugh. “We should return to Haven.”

“Right,” she nodded, reaching into the pouch on her belt. “But first we have a soiree to attend and a crazy conspiracy note to follow. This day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

 

That night they opted to stay in a roadside tavern outside of the city. Cassandra and Solas had gone up to their rooms, while Remy sat in the bar a while longer with Varric. The barkeeper was a grump and the decor rather uninspiring, but the beer was surprisingly good. She was lying flat on the table, drink in hand, the rough wooden surface scratching against her forehead.

“This day was fucking weird,” she groaned.

Varric sat across from her, leaning back in his chair as he twirled his empty mug around on the table with his finger. “We’ve had a lot of weird days lately,” he grinned.

“This one takes the cake,” she smirked, pushing up from the table. "Templars punching out clerics, mages wanting to talk to me, someone who freezes her guests and an elf whom I can only assume is literally insane.” She took a long drink from her beer. “Seriously, our story required suspension of disbelief. If you write this, people will declare you raving mad.”

“Somehow I feel there are stranger things in store for us yet,” he murmured. “This day may end up feeling mundane in comparison.”

She observed her friend for a while. “You don’t have to stick with the Inquisition, you know,” she said. “I mean, don’t just stay on my account. You had things going on in Kirkwall before Cassandra dragged you off.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No,” she laughed. “But you didn’t come here voluntarily, nor are you kept here by a messed up hand. If you’d rather go back home, I understand.”

“Please, you want me here,” he winked. “And I’d never walk away from a story this good.”

“All right,” she grinned, “but don’t complain later I didn’t give you an out.” She signaled the barkeep for another round, but he ignored her. “Damned Orlesians,” she grunted. “So what do you think about this offer from the mages?”

“It could be a trap,” Varric said thoughtfully, “though I imagine they have bigger problems than you. More likely they’re just looking for an ally against the templars. With them all holed up in Redcliffe they’re vulnerable to attack.”

“Right now the Inquisition is about closing the Breach and finding who’s responsible, but it doesn’t seem we’ll be able to do that without inadvertently picking sides in the mage-templar squabble.”

His eyes narrowed. “I think you’re right. So what do you want to do?”

She exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

“Did Fiona get to you? That remark about you betraying other mages?”

“Nah, I’ve gotten worse than that. I don’t regret standing with the templars that day… but what happened in Kirkwall is not representative of everything that’s going on now.”

“True,” he nodded. “You stayed neutral for as long as you could back home. Do you plan to do the same here?”

“Well, I did tell Cass I didn’t want to be a part of decisions.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “how’s that working out?”

“Not great,” she sighed. “It’s not like we can send a raven every time a situation comes up. Even if we did, we’d just get three back with different responses.”

Varric frowned and thought for a moment. “Curly is right about one thing, Hawke. For better or worse, you do step up when needed. Did you consider you might have to here?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“… Another drink?”

“Maker bless you, Varric Tethras.”


	13. 9.33: Conjugal Visit

The clatter of the rain was loud against the window, only outdone by the sharp whistling of the gale that streaked past the Gallows. Cullen sat at his desk, bent over the report that would have to be sent off to the Grand Cleric. Another incident, fortunately without casualties this time. He sucked on the tip of his quill, finding himself torn between being objective and the memory of Meredith’s eyes glazing over as they did whenever a mage stepped out of line. Was it his imagination or was she getting even harsher than before? Or was it that his views were changing? When he first arrived in Kirkwall he never questioned her methods, but the things she’d said today about mages… they were not sitting right with him now.

A loud bang made him look up with a start. The window had blown open, letting the rain splatter onto the floor and making the papers on his desk flutter. He quickly got up to close it, only to jump back when Hawke dropped from above onto the window sill in front of him.

“Boo.”

She sat perched like a bird, dressed completely in black and wearing a large hood. The shadow that it cast over her eyes could not hide the excited glint within them.

“Maker’s breath!” he hissed. “How’d you get up here?”

The corner of her mouth pulled up in a crooked smirk. “Do you really want to know?”

“… No.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. “Just get in, before someone sees you.”

She gracefully hopped onto the floor and he closed the window behind her, glancing out into the courtyard. It was pitch black, the winds too strong for the torches to remain lit. Likely everyone on guard duty had abandoned their actual routes and instead was hiding away in places more sheltered. He turned around to find her walking towards the door and place her ear against it for a moment, before locking it and turning back to face him.

“Nice digs,” she said casually. She lowered her hood and removed the cape while she walked around his room, dropping it on the floor behind her as she took in the surroundings. It was nothing special, and only just big enough for his bed and desk. The old prison did not make for particularly pleasant living conditions. “You're a bit of neat-freak, huh?” she smirked, glancing at him when she picked up a sheet of parchment that had been brushed off his desk by the wind.

“Templar training will do that to you,” he grunted, taking it from her and placing it back on the tabletop. If anyone found her here they’d both be in immense trouble. The way she smiled at him made it clear just how much she was aware of that, and how little she cared. “Why are you in here?”

“Because you’re in here, obviously,” she murmured. The tips of her fingers stroked the back of his hand, sending tingles up his arm. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“You could have seen me last week,” he said sternly, taking the other hand that had started to pull on his belt and pushing it away. “I waited for you.”

“I’m sorry, something came up.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Her eyebrow shot up and she gave up her continued attempt to undo his trousers. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe what else was so important? Or why you didn’t let me know when you weren’t going to come?”

“How was I going to let you know, Cullen?” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t do it on purpose, a friend of mine got in trouble. How am I supposed to reach you exactly when something like that happens?”

“You could have let me know after, at least,” he snapped. “Not show up _here_ after a week.”

“I’m not going to hang around the Gallows waiting for you to be out in the courtyard,” she hissed. “I was here a few times to see the potion guy and you were nowhere to be seen.”

He huffed indignantly and went to sit behind his desk. “You should leave. It’s not safe.”

“It’s safer here at the moment than our other place usually is.” She came towards him and sat on the edge of the table. “I’m not stupid you know. Meredith’s light went out over an hour ago.” He didn’t answer and instead pulled the report he’d been working on earlier towards him, though he didn’t manage to focus on the words. She sighed and turned around to grab an empty sheet of paper from his supply. 

“Look.” With a swift move she took the quill from his other side, dipped it in the ink and scribbled something on the parchment. Before he could see what she’d written she placed her hand over it and closed her eyes while she whispered something inaudible. A short glow pulled across her hand and she removed it, revealing that the words had disappeared.

“What did you do?” he asked, picking up the sheet and turning it over. There was not so much as a drop of ink on the surface.

“Hold it above that candle,” she said, pointing at the one on the edge of the desk. “Not too close.”

He did as she asked and watched. For a while nothing seemed to happen and he glanced back at her, but she gave a short nod towards the candle, telling him to be patient. Slowly something began to shimmer on the surface and little by little blue letters appeared. Her message glowed faintly in the dark of his office. _Forgive me?_

When he looked back at her she was watching him with a soft smile on her face. He liked that smile… it was completely different from the challenging smirk or the defiant grin. While those had their own charm, this one made his heart beat faster just by her looking at him. It let him feel that she cared.

She ran a hand through his hair and pulled him towards her by the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, leaning in to touch her forehead against his own. “I’ll try to write to you in the future, all right? We’ll just have to think of something I can send to you for cover that doesn’t look conspicuous.”

He breathed in deeply and rubbed his nose against hers. It was a nice feeling, much closer than anything they’d shared before. “All right,” he sighed. "I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” She lifted a leg to sit astride him and he leaned back in his chair, allowing her to run her hands up his chest and into his hair and feeling himself stir under her by the warmth of her pelvis. “What were you writing when I came in?” she whispered, in between kissing his neck.

“Ah… there —” He gasped as her tongue flicked past his ear, while his hips bucked against her. “There was an incident. I’ve been stuck dealing with the aftermath.”

“Anyone ever tell you you work too much?” she breathed, her lips moving over his skin.

“Something no one can accuse you of,” he groaned. One of her hands had made its way down and began to massage him with expertise.

“Now, now… don’t be mean.” She pulled away and undid the laces on her shirt, revealing her torso. “The good thing about being a woman of leisure,” she murmured, pulling the fabric down over her shoulders, “is that I know the best ways to relax.”

She giggled softly as he grabbed her thighs and lifted her up onto the desk. He positioned himself over her, taking in her smell, her taste, her sounds, and completely forgetting about the report that got crumpled under her back.


	14. What You Don't Know

Hawke looked contemplative as she and Cassandra walked into the Chantry and she remained silent during their discussion of the events in Val Royeux. Cullen observed her with concern, partly for her and partly for them. Generally it was not a good thing when she went quiet. It wasn’t until the meeting came to a close, the conclusion being that the Inquisition needed more influence to proceed with their plans, that she looked up.

“I want to go talk to the mages.”

He blinked. “Why would you?”

“They invited us. Why should we delay in closing the Breach to get the templars’ attention when the mages are willing to cooperate?”

He looked around at the other advisors. Leliana and Josephine had turned away, but came back looking at her with interest.

“It is possible it is a trap,” the spymaster said in her sing-song voice. “Surely you’ve considered that.”

“I have. And while us mages do like to hold on to our grudges, I think by now the rebels have bigger concerns than trying to get back at me.”

“You’re not like them,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “You’re taking an unnecessary risk by walking in there.”

“I am like them, actually.” He couldn’t decipher her expression as she looked at him, her eyebrows raised and her head slightly turned to the side.

“Well… there is still a lot of work to be done in the Hinterlands,” Cassandra mused. “I guess we can at least hear them out while we’re in the area.”

Hawke smiled at her and the other women nodded in consent. “Let us know how it goes,” Josephine said, making a note on her clipboard. “In the meantime we’ll think of other options.”

With that the meeting seemed to have come to a definite end and they all went their separate ways. Cullen stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what had just transpired, before going after her.

“Hawke.”

She and Cassandra turned around and looked at him. Though Hawke’s face was softer and her coloring different, it suddenly struck him how similar the two women seemed. The Seeker touched her on the arm and said something to her before walking away. Hawke nodded and turned her attention back to him, her eyebrows raised in anticipation. “What’s up?”

He paused in front of her. “A word? Somewhere private?”

“Sure,” she smiled and gestured with her arm towards the path. They walked through the village and she looked with interest at the bustling activity around them. Several times they had to stop because of someone coming up to her with a question and he couldn’t help but notice how they seemed to hang on her every word.

It was nothing new. People always had been drawn to her and her easy manners had allowed her to socialize with those from all kinds of backgrounds in Kirkwall. But even with the ‘Herald’ reputation, he was surprised at how her popularity had soared. Many people had come over from the Hinterlands after she’d left for the capital and tales of her aid were spreading quickly. Though it was a good thing for the Inquisition, it unsettled him in a way he didn’t quite understand.

When she was stopped for a fourth time, this time by a group of children who immediately began to fire a volley of questions her way about the capital, she sighed and gave him an apologetic smile before turning to the urchins clamoring for her attention.

“Hey, guys,” she said. “I want to tell you all about it, but I have some things to do first.”

“Did you get to see the Sun Gates?” squeaked a girl with a scraggly ponytail.

“And the chevaliers?” asked one of the boys.

“There was not a whole lot of time for sightseeing,” Hawke replied, “but we did see the gates. And I did not look out for chevaliers because most of them are… well, pricks really.” She glanced over to Cullen and smirked, but he didn’t respond. Her words from earlier lingered in his mind and made it hard to think of anything else. The smile slowly vanished from her face. “Come to Varric’s place in an hour, all right?” she said, turning her attention back to the children. “We’ll talk then.”

Some of them objected, but the tallest boy - the son of one of the blacksmiths if Cullen recalled correctly - raised his voice over the others and ushered them away from her. “You heard her,” he said importantly. “In an hour!”

Eventually they managed to leave the village and cross the training grounds towards the woods, where she positioned herself against a large rock a little ways in. “So…” she said, crossing her arms and cocking her head. “What’s on your mind?”

“What did you mean?” He leaned with his back against a tree and frowned at her. Her expression was still not giving him any information.

“Mean by…?”

“That you are like the rebel mages.”

She pulled back her head and huffed a laugh. “I would’ve thought that’s pretty obvious."

“You’re a mage, that doesn’t make you like them. You never supported any of the rebel activities in Kirkwall."

“That you know of.”

His stomach dropped like a brick, sending out a shockwave that spread ice through his veins. Unconsciously, his fingers closed around the hilt of his sword. “What?”

“Cullen,” she sighed, looking away. “I didn’t sit at home doing nothing in between visiting the Gallows. There was a surprising amount of messed up shit in Kirkwall. I stayed away from that, but I did help some people with things you wouldn’t have agreed with.”

He stepped closer. “You lied to me?” His voice had come out a lot lower than he’d expected.

“No, I just didn’t tell you. It would’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“That’s convenient, isn’t it? Giving yourself a free pass to do whatever you want under the guise of concern for my well-being?”

She raised her head and frowned. “There’s no reason to get upset.”

“I am!” He took another step forward and placed his hand on the stone beside her, his other clenching around his sword. Her eyes flitted from his face to his hand and back and she leaned away from him, but did not flinch. “What are you telling me exactly?”

“Nothing you didn’t already know. I’m an apostate, Cullen, that’s not a simple lifestyle choice. I thought you accepted that, not that you were in denial about it.” She sucked in her bottom lip and bit down, her eyes searching his face. “I’ve worked hard to keep my freedom, I am not unsympathetic to other mages wanting to hold on to theirs.”

“The reason you kept your freedom is because I kept Meredith off your back,” he growled, leaning into her. “Because I thought you were on our side."

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said sharply. “There was nothing noble about your motives.”

He felt his breath grow heavy as they glared at each other. She was almost as tall as he was, but since she’d been leaning against the stone he was looming over her. It didn’t seem to faze her at all as she stared back at him. Eventually she shook her head and sighed, as if making up her mind.

“So much for things being normal. Though it was probably stupid to think they ever were.” She slid out from under his influence and started to walk back to the village. He grabbed her arm, instantly feeling her freeze under his touch. Her voice was eerily calm when she turned around and looked at his hand. “Let go of me.”

“We’re not done.”

Her eyes snapped back up to his, as cold as the icicles hanging from the trees around them. “We were done a long time ago. Release me, Knight-Captain. I have work to do.”

He let go and she stormed off. The muscles in his jaw clenched painfully as he watched her go, her messy ponytail angrily swinging back and forth. Suddenly he realized why her renewed popularity made him so uneasy. It was because it gave her the confidence to do what she wanted… and he was not at all sure he liked the direction she was heading in.


	15. 9.34: All That Remains

Cullen saw Varric arrive and leave. He eyed the dwarf with suspicion, wondering what brought him to the Gallows on his own. He did not need to wait long for an answer as the news spread through the barracks like wildfire. Leandra Hawke was dead, killed by an apostate. Not only that, it seemed the same apostate was responsible for the disappearances of several women over the last few years. The news made his chest feel painfully constricted. Hawke had come to him, but he had turned her down. Told her there was nothing to be done. The rest of his shift was spent in a guilty haze, while he took out his frustration on groups of templars and mages gossiping in the hallways.

The moon was already high in the sky when he could finally make his way to the city. Hightown Market was deserted, except for the lamplighter who was busy kindling a lantern in the far corner. The Amell mansion was directly on the other side from where he was standing, the windows dark except for one on the upper floor. Cullen watched as a shadow moved behind it. He hesitated. Did she even want to see him? He paced the entrance of the square several times before he made up his mind, crossed the plaza and headed straight for the door. Even if she’d slam it in his face, he was determined to at least apologize.

The door opened a fraction and a pair of large, green eyes looked at him suspiciously from within. “Yes?”

“I… am here to see lady Hawke. Is she in?” he asked, feeling nervous under the woman’s piercing stare. Her eyes narrowed, but she opened the door just enough for him to enter.

“Wait here.”

The elf walked up the stairs and disappeared into one of the rooms. A moment later Hawke appeared on the landing, looking apprehensive, but she relaxed visibly when she saw him.

“It’s all right, Orana. Sorry to keep you up so long, you can go to bed now.”

“Are you sure, miss?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Very well. Please call if you need anything.” Orana threw him one more skeptical look before moving into another room, and Hawke waited for her to close the door behind her before turning back to him.

“‘Evening, Knight-Captain. You gave her quite a scare, templars showing up at night is never a good thing.” She smiled at him as she leaned on the bannister, one eyebrow raised. “What brings you here?”

“I…” He hesitated. She didn’t seem angry or upset, like he had expected her to be. It was unsettling. “I came to see how you are… and offer my condolences.”

Her smile faded like snow in the sun. “Did you?” she said softly, more to herself than to him, Cullen thought. She sighed and let her head hang low. After a long moment she pushed away from the railing and motioned to the room she’d been in before. “Come on in then.”

She held the door open for him as he made his way up the stairs and closed it behind them. With a sigh she walked across the room towards the bay window and picked up a small book with a worn leather cover from the floor. It landed further away with a soft thud as she tossed it aside, before she settled down on the various pillows and blankets that she’d arranged in the alcove. It reminded him of a nest and, judging from the cup and plate on the floor next to it, she’d been there a while.

He looked around the rest of the room. It was tastefully decorated, with a big four-poster bed in the center. To his surprise he noticed that the faint light he had seen from outside did not come from candles, like he had assumed, but from flowers. Vines had wrapped themselves around the bedposts and spread over the ceiling, faintly glowing blossoms dotted all over in sharp contrast against the green. In the dark it was reminiscent of looking up at a starry sky. He stood rooted to the ground, the thick blanket of magic that lay over the room twisting his stomach into a tight lump.

“Cullen?” Suppressing the erratic notion the flowers might attack him if he turned his back on them, he pulled his gaze away to look at her. She had wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing them close to her chest. A faint vertical line was etched between her eyebrows as she observed him. “Something wrong?”

“This… is magic.”

She huffed a laugh. “Really, is that what it is? Thanks for clarifying.”

“I —” His eyes flashed to the flowers and back. “I haven’t seen you use it this much before.”

“You’re free to leave if you can’t handle a plant,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp. The crease in her forehead deepened as she glared at him.

“I can,” he said hastily, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“S’all right,” she sighed, her anger fading as quickly as it had surfaced. “Stop standing there gaping and come sit down.”

He tentatively moved closer and settled across from her on the pillows, leaning against the window sill. It was a clear night and from where they were sitting they could overlook a large part of the city. The sea glinted in the distance, rolling waves reflecting the moonlight. The Gallows lay beyond, its towers looming ominously in the dark, the torches that lined the walls nothing more than shimmering dots.

“Been meaning to ask you, actually. Any plans to bring me in?”

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the old prison. Now that he saw her up close he noticed just how tired she looked. Shadows lined her features and her eyes were bloodshot and red around the edges.

“Meredith considered it, but she knows we have bigger issues. You’re well known and liked in the community, and you do a lot of good for the city. I pointed out that forcing you would cause a bigger uproar than it’s worth.”

“Plus I’d make your life miserable.”

“Yes, that too.”

She smiled and he felt the tension in his chest ebb away. In the glow of the moon and the flowers she appeared softer than he’d ever seen her before. There was a gentle calmness that seemed to radiate from her and affect the very air around them. He glanced up at the vines again, which had continued to grow and now also reached down to frame the alcove they were sitting in.

“My mother’s favorite flower,” she explained, following his gaze. “With a twist.”

“It’s beautiful.”

A soft sigh escaped her lips. She leaned her head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, her eyes far away. “Sometimes I need to remind myself magic can be that. Today it’s… hard to believe.”

It was not often he heard self-doubt from a mage. Here in Kirkwall it was an even rarer occurrence than it had been in Ferelden’s Circle. To hear it coming from Hawke, who was always brimming with confidence, was worrisome. He hesitated, not sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. “What happened?”

Her eyebrows knotted together into a frown and he could see her mind working as she considered him. “We decided to keep the details to ourselves. I didn’t tell my uncle or even Carver. Simply knowing someone…” She shook her head. “It’s hard enough.”

Cullen inclined his head. “I understand.”

She sighed and looked out the window. As she spoke her tone was dull and she kept her gaze firmly on the horizon, while he listened with increasing horror. Anyone abducting and killing women was bad enough, but using them to piece together… _something_ that resembled a dead wife? That was a new low, even for Kirkwall. His mouth was dry and he felt slightly nauseous by the time she went silent. For a long moment they both stared out over the city, neither of them speaking.

“I… I’m so sorry, Hawke. The templars should have caught that madman long ago.”

She studied his face. “I wanted to blame the Order,” she said slowly, “though I’d have to blame the Guard just as much and honestly, I don’t think either is responsible. What it comes down to is that I could not protect my mother, like I failed my sister before her.” She turned back to the window and smiled bitterly. “At this point I can’t even blame Carver anymore for hating my guts.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he said. “You couldn’t have predicted the actions of a deranged maleficar.”

“Deranged…” she repeated flatly. “What does it take for a normal mage to cross that line? Not much, based on the shit we’ve seen. Most of them are not evil people, just desperate. Is it the people that abuse the magic… or is it the promises of magic that twist the people?”

Cullen felt a tugging at his heart as he watched her. There was very little left of her usual poise and vigor. The way she sat in front of him, shoulders hunched and head low, she looked defeated. For someone usually so strong and together, it felt completely and utterly wrong. He reached over and took her hands in his.

“Everyone has a choice, no matter how bad their situation. You are not responsible for those that make the wrong decisions.”

She raised her head. “You haven’t exactly been discreet in your opinions about mages, Cullen. Don’t sit there and tell me you don’t think the world would be better off without magic.”

He swallowed and looked away. He had thought that, many times even, since the events in Ferelden. If he was completely honest, his time in Kirkwall had hardly been more encouraging. “I won’t deny I have,” he sighed. “Magic is dangerous and hard to control even by those that don’t intend any harm. Then there is the weak, malicious or power hungry for whom it’s all too easy a power to exploit.” He paused and glanced at her. To his relief she did not look angry or offended, but was watching him quietly, waiting for him to continue. “But I’ve known many mages that are good people. The Hero of Ferelden for one… and you. Whatever evil is done with magic by some, you make up for it.”

Her face relaxed in a gentle smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

He watched their hands as she laced her fingers through his and leaned in until their foreheads touched. Her breath was soft on his face and he hoped that somehow his presence made her feel better. Her magic hummed silently around them, but it didn’t bother him any longer.

Their lips touched, first briefly, then longer. It felt different from the other times he’d kissed her. They usually moved with an urgency, an uncontrollable hunger, brought on by lust and the danger of being caught. Now it was slow, deep and intimate. For the moment he forgot who they were, leaving the harsh reality of the outside world behind. Over time she had made his guard crumble around him and now she was inviting him in, sheltering them in her home and the protective bubble of her magic.

He untangled his fingers from hers and embraced her, while she let her hands slide up over his chest and around his neck as she pressed herself against him, resting her weight against his torso. He pulled her close, her every breath resonating in his chest, the lyrium in his veins singing under her touch. He felt more aware of his body, more alive, than he ever had before. Her mouth was warm on his, her taste sweet on his tongue.

Her hands moved down, tugging at his shirt, and he leaned in so she could pull it over his head, after which he undid her belt and tossed it aside. Without it her tunic hung loosely around her torso and he pushed it down to bare her shoulder. She sighed when he nuzzled her neck and twined her fingers in his hair, drawing him towards her. With his mouth he caressed her collar bone, her throat and her jaw. Then he moved up over her cheek, past her temple, to her forehead and back down until he found her lips again. She moaned softly as he pushed his tongue to meet hers and sucked with intent. Her hands moved to his chest, her fingers tracing the hardened shapes of his muscles.

Then she pushed him away… and the moment was gone.

He sat unmoving, his mouth slightly ajar from the abrupt end to the kiss. She bit her lip and stared at the floor, her chest rising and falling rapidly with her shaking breath. Her tunic slid further down her shoulder and she grabbed at the fabric to pull it back up, searching around for her belt.

“Maker, I… I’m sorry.”

“No,” she interjected. “ _I_ am sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t let that happen again.” She rubbed her forehead while letting out a frustrated sigh.

“What?” His voice was suddenly so constricted he could barely hear himself.

“I care about you, Cullen. Which is why this…” She made a vague gesture between them. “… is a terrible idea.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let it go on this long. I…” Her pained expression was like a knife twisting in his stomach.

“Right, because of…” He coughed in an attempt to loosen up his throat. “Right?”

With another long breath she straightened herself up and met his eyes. “Because I’m a mage.”

“Right...” Her words seemed to reach him very slowly. “… Right.”

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her forehead on her arms.

Outside, a moth fluttered against the corner of the window, drawn towards the glow of the flowers. Cullen watched it flap helplessly, its wings tapping softly against the glass. Eventually it gave up and touched down on the wood to hang quietly in the frame.

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it back over his head before moving to sit next to her. When he put his arm around her she raised her head. “You shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“No.”

“Then I’m staying,” he said as he reached up to stroke her hair from her face, “until I’m no longer welcome.”

She smiled sadly and turned to look out the window. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and slowly traced his fingers up and down her arm. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again.

“We’re friends… right?”

He sighed. More than anything he wanted to turn her around and kiss her again, feel her hands run over his skin, taste her on his lips and listen to the small noises she'd made when he’d sucked her neck. “Of course we are.”

With a deep sigh she relaxed against him. “I’m glad.”

It didn’t take long until her breath started to lengthen and grow deeper. In his embrace he could almost feel the strain from the day crash over her and pull her under. He wrapped his other arm around her to pull her close and she shifted her position, placing her hand on his chest and burrowing her face in his neck. He stroked her hair until she drifted off to sleep, her body rising and falling gently with her breath.

As he sat there, his mind caught up with the reality of the situation. He swallowed hard as he looked out the window, the shape of the Gallows sharp against the night sky. He pressed his nose in her hair, deeply taking in the fresh smell of scented soap. “The Light shall lead her safely,” he whispered, “through the paths of this world, and into the next.” She stirred in his arms, a serene smile spreading across her face, and he finished the verse in his head, mouthing the words against her crown. _Maker watch over you_ , he wished, _when I cannot_. He closed his eyes and felt himself fading away. It was the first night in years that he did not dream.

 

He awoke to a hand shaking his shoulder and found Hawke sitting next to him, smiling gently. The sky outside had turned a deep pink as the first sunlight started to creep over the buildings.

“Sorry to wake you,” she said, “but you should head back soon. We don’t want Meredith to send out a search party.”

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and took the mug of tea she was holding out to him. She moved over and settled herself against him, holding her own mug close to her chest with both hands. They watched the sunrise, her hair tickling soft under his chin.

“Do you like being a templar?”

The question was unexpected. “I do,” he replied, “It’s all I’ve wanted to be since I was young. To protect people as well as mages from the dangers of magic, I couldn’t imagine a better purpose in life.” He smiled, somewhat surprised at his own answer. “It hasn’t been what I expected… but I believe in our purpose.”

She observed him quietly for a moment. When she spoke her tone was light. “Glad to hear it.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I dunno… If you hated it I might’ve tried to convince you to elope with me,” she smirked. He wasn’t sure how serious to take her. She averted her eyes and reached up to stroke her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I made you worry, I’ll try not to do so again.”

“Should I not have come?”

“Probably not,” she murmured, giving him a sideways glance. “I’m happy you did, but it shouldn’t happen again. Even my selfishness has a limit.” She took a sip from her tea. “Though of course it’s also partly self interest I don’t want to find out what Meredith would do if she knew you were here.”

“You sure are egotistical,” he smirked, “what with all you do for random strangers.”

“It’s easier to fix other people’s problems than your own,” she said, smiling. She rested her head against him and they sat in silence a while longer, their tea largely forgotten and growing cold. “You have to go,” she whispered eventually.

He nodded and she got up to leave the room with their mugs. He pushed himself up and stretched, looking around. The vines had disappeared. All that remained was a single potted plant on the bedside table, white blossoms glowing faintly in the early morning light.

 

The city slowly woke around them as they made their way down to the docks. A child cried from within one of the houses, merchants arrived with carts and began to set up shop, and drunks stumbled home from the taverns. They walked in silence and he took her hand, trying to hold on to the night for as long as he could. They reached the boats much too soon.

She halted out of sight from the workers who were busy unloading heavy boxes of cargo. The wind brushed her hair into her eyes and he reached up to stroke it away, but the short strands immediately blew back again. She laughed, her teeth pearly white in the soft light, the sound filling his chest with warmth.

For a long moment they stood there, hands locked, neither of them moving. Then she leaned forward, her breath tickling warm on his face. Her lips brushed against his and he placed his hand on her neck, drawing her in and lingering for as long as he could, wishing to absorb every moment. After what felt like much too short a time, she gently bumped her nose against his and pulled away.

“Take care… Knight-Captain.”

She spun around and briskly walked away. A moment later she was gone.


	16. Tiny and Sparkler

_“My little girl… How could you let her run off like that?!”_

Remy woke with a start and grabbed her staff in a reflex. She stared at the roof of her tent and waited for a sign of movement, but the world was quiet and the Veil still. The demons that had come to her in her sleep had gone back from where they came.

She reached up to rub her eyes, but froze when her hand was inches from her face. The mark glowed and crackled and she watched it for a moment before putting her hand down and reaching up with her other instead. Solas had spent a lot more time studying it and though he didn’t have an explanation for her, he did emphasize that she wasn’t in danger from it at the moment. It did not change the fact that she felt a lingering resentment towards the foreign entity on her body or that it made her hand feel alien, as if it wasn’t really a part of her. She grabbed her glove and pulled it on, covering it from sight, and headed out of the tent.

To her surprise she wasn’t the only one up, despite the sun still being a while away from showing itself. The Iron Bull, the latest addition to the strange group of people they’d managed to gather, sat at the campfire, poking it with a stick. They’d met on the Storm Coast a few days ago and he’d been tagging along with them since then, sending his Chargers off to Haven to report to Cullen. Though they hadn’t talked much beyond smalltalk while riding, she had appreciated his transparency when they met and so far she had seen no evidence that he was anything else than what he’d told her.

“Morning,” he greeted, a lot more awake than she felt. “Didn't wake you, did I?”

“Nah, I wake up all the time… Light sleeper.”

“Got something on your mind?”

She sat down across from him and raised an eyebrow. “Why d'you ask that?”

“Used to be a light sleeper myself for a while,” he said, making quotes in the air around the phrase. “When I wasn’t doing so great. With what’s going on with you, it makes sense.”

“Used to be?”

“Sleep like a log now. Just get up early,” he winked. “So, is it the hand or the Herald thing?”

“They don’t help, but I’ve been like this since long before either came along.”

“But not always, right?”

“Are you trying to fix me?” she smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re the sensitive type under all that muscle?”

“Not really. Ben-Hassrath training, learned how to read people.” He pointed one of his big fingers at her. _“You_ have a chip on your shoulder the size of my axe. Since I’m following you now, it is in my interest that it doesn’t get in your way.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckled. “So, what’d you do with your chip?”

“Turned myself in to the re-educators. Didn’t get rid of it, but I got reassigned and started the Chargers. Been better since then.”

“I don’t really want to be re-educated.”

“You don’t have to be,” he laughed. “You know what always helps me?”

“Let me guess,” she said, leaning forward and pretending to think. “Hitting things?”

“Yeah.” His eyes twinkled. “Wanna go find something?”

“Sure,” she laughed. “Why not?”

She wrote a note for Varric and Cassandra and followed the Qunari out of the camp. The Hinterlands were starting to feel like familiar terrain by now, though this was the first time they’d approached them from the north. She had planned to head to Redcliffe and talk to the mages first, but Krem had showed up in Haven before they left, informing them of the Iron Bull’s offer to join them. They’d decided to travel to the Storm Coast with him instead, before heading south towards the Hinterlands from there, cleaning up rifts along the way.

The day before, they had passed the remains of Lothering, but she’d only cast a quick glance around. It was hardly recognizable since the Blight, but not so much that it did not trigger some memories. They’d pressed on until they reached one of the Inquisition’s permanent camps, which meant bigger tents and more comfortable bedding for a night.

Though Remy was used to moving around with stealth, always looking to get the advantage to a fight if she could, there was no point to it while walking next to the Iron Bull. He crashed through the undergrowth and talked loudly, perhaps even more so than normal, clearly looking to draw out a fight with whomever could hear them.

“So, Varric says you’re the one that killed the Arishok,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“Why is that always the first thing people think of with me?” she murmured.

“Well,” he smirked. “Little woman like you? They’re probably thinking it’s bullshit.”

“Call me a little woman again and tomorrow morning you’ll find that axe up your own ass.”

“How do you know I don’t like that?”

A short silence fell where she stared at the giant muscles moving in his shoulders. “I got you pegged as the type who inserts foreign objects, rather than embracing them,” she mused. He let out a booming laugh and she chuckled along with him. “Anyway, you should know most of Varric’s stories are nonsense,” she continued. “This one isn’t though. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.”

“That’s good then.”

“How'd you beat him? Magic?”

“Lots of it.”

“Got any specialties? I’ve seen you use a bunch.”

“I’m pretty straightforward, really. Elemental mainly, and I do healing. Protective stuff too, otherwise Varric would be dead a lot. Me too actually. Fire is always fun.”

“I like the ice myself. Makes them shatter into pieces when I hit them.”

“… We can work with that.”

He grunted approvingly and turned his attention back to the front, coming to a halt at the edge of a small cliff. She stood next to him and looked over the side. A little way down was a small camp with a group of five knights sitting around a fire and several more up and about.

“Templars,” Bull said quietly. “That okay for you?”

“Should be fine,” she murmured. “Would like to know for sure they’re rotten before jumping them though.”

“Oh, that’s easy to find out.”

Before she could stop him he had jumped off the ledge. She knelt down to hide from view and watched him slide down the slope towards the camp, pulling bushes up by the root with him. The ruckus alerted the templars and they scrambled up, unsheathing their swords and pointing them in the direction of the Qunari.

“Morning, fellas,” he called, slipping to a halt in front of them. “I’m recruiting for the Inquisition. You’ve heard of them?”

“Upstart heretics who say a mage is the Herald of Andraste?” an older knight with a brown beard replied. “Yes, we’ve heard of them.”

“We’re trying to close the Breach. You boys interested in that?”

“Our duty is to destroy the mages that threaten us all,” another said. He was slight, with mousy hair and blemishes on his skin. Remy guessed he was no more than twenty years old, yet his eyes were already full of rage. “We’ll deal with anyone keeping us from fulfilling that purpose.”

“I see,” Bull nodded. “So I should leave you to that then?”

“That’d be good,” the older man grunted.

Bull turned and slowly walked away, glancing up to where she was sitting. He winked and she saw a mischievous smirk play around his mouth. Behind him the templars looked at each other, wordlessly deliberating on what they should do. The moment they reached their decision reflected in their eyes, which went from suspicion to a hardened determination in an instant as they focused on the Qunari’s back. Silently, the knights began to advance on him, their swords drawn back in anticipation. As soon as the first one moved to strike Bull turned around in a flash, pulled his axe from his back and sliced it through the air, knocking the sword out of the older man’s hand. He waited a moment, checking for the response of the others. They charged in and a moment later it was chaos.

She focused on support spells first, buffing the warrior and protecting him from the flurry of blows that was coming his way. He hollered as he felt her magic strengthen his attacks and cleaved through his attackers with even more vigor than usual.

“He’s brought a mage!” one of the men shouted, and the knights looked around in a frenzy for her location. She felt a cleansing field extending to the area around them, dampening her skills and limiting her reach towards Bull. The Qunari seemed to manage fine however, so she got up and ran along the cliff to circle behind the group.

With a leap she jumped down, her hands already glowing with energy, and spun round. The sky cracked and a freezing wind blew in, twisting around her targets and fixing them in place. Bull heaved his axe overhead with a grunt and swung low, smashing the templars that had been caught in the blast. His eyes were glinting with a savage kind of joy that mirrored how she felt.

He motioned with his head to the remaining two that had backed away and were now running from the fight. She stepped forward and rose her staff to the sky. It pulsed with energy and lightning struck from the tip, catching the men in its forks and dragging them back towards her with its static energy. They scrambled and clawed at the ground, trying to get away, but to no avail. With a flick of her hand fire formed in her palm and shot towards them. Screams sounded in the quiet morning for a moment… and then all went still.

While Bull checked the camp, she scavenged what remained of the knights for supplies. Among the frozen pieces she found a ring with an inscription in Elvish and she recognized it as the one a farmer’s wife had asked her about on their first trip into the area. She carefully placed it within the pouch on her belt and made the mental note to return it to her as soon as possible.

Only one of the templars was still recognizable as such and she walked over to search his pockets. He was lying on his stomach, so she wormed her toes under his shoulder and flipped him over. It was a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, with dark blond hair and green eyes that were blankly staring up at her. Blood oozed out from under his armor and the emblem on his chest - the flaming sword she knew so well - had been crushed by the blow of Bull’s axe. He had been quite handsome and though his features were very different, she couldn’t prevent the image of Cullen rising in her mind and the way he had glared at her when they last spoke.

She sighed and reached down to close the man’s eyes, before placing his arms across his chest in a burial position without searching his body. With her hand resting on his she remained crouched next to him a moment longer, softly whispering a verse from the Chant. Bull’s form quietly came to stand beside her and his massive hand touched her shoulder with unexpected tenderness.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Let’s go back.”

She got up and turned without meeting his eyes. He followed closely behind as she climbed back up to the ridge and retraced their steps to the camp.

“Hey, boss.” They’d reached the edge of the forest. Cassandra and Varric were already up. The Seeker caught sight of her, and from her stance Remy could tell she wasn’t pleased that she’d gone off on her own. She turned around to find Bull looking at her with his arms crossed and his head angled to the side. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly.

“For what?”

“That look you just had. Whatever caused it, I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, breathing a small laugh. “But whatever happened to me is of my own doing. Perhaps you shouldn’t follow me after all, I have very bad judgement.”

“It’s a good thing your ambassador pays us well then,” he smirked. He patted her on the back as they walked the final stretch to the camp. The force of the gesture nearly knocked her off her feet, but it made her feel a bit better nonetheless.

 

Throughout the day she could feel the lack of sleep dogging her every move. The remaining journey to Redcliffe village was relatively calm, except for a few encounters with locals. She’d stopped telling people they encountered that she wasn’t sent by Andraste. Not only did Cassandra huff indignantly and remain cross for at least an hour whenever she had, it also just led to longer discussions she did not feel like having. So now she just nodded when someone called her the Herald and moved past the topic as quickly as she could, though it made her feel incredibly dirty.

She sighed with annoyance when a small group swarmed around them, not letting them pass until they had received ‘the Herald’s’ blessing. The fact that her head throbbed with every step that Tempest took did not help in keeping her temper in check. She raised her hand to her temple and gave herself a boost with her healing magic, though she felt more keenly than ever that it was no substitute for a good night’s sleep.

A rift cracked open when they reached the village and demons spilled out around them. She jumped off her horse and took her battle stance, staff at the ready, as a rage demon charged towards her.

For the first time her sleep issues caused her genuine concern. It was as if time sped up and slowed down around her, causing some things to seemingly last forever while others went so fast she missed them if she blinked. She watched Bull raise his axe in an agonizingly slow movement, until suddenly he was meters away and the demon he’d been fighting was no more than a quickly dissolving mist. Another ghoul was on the other side of the field, but suddenly appeared next to her and she only narrowly avoided its attack in time. Its giant claws dug into the ground where she had just stood and she vaporized it with a quick blast from her staff.

For a moment she thought she might have finally gone insane, but as the fighting died down it became clear she wasn’t the only one that experienced the strange distortions.

“Andraste’s flaming ass, what was that?” Varric called out. He was standing next to one of his bolts that hung suspended in the air, watching it move forward extremely slowly. Remy raised her hand to close the rift and he jumped back as the arrow suddenly shot forward and planted itself into a nearby tree.

“These rifts are getting weirder,” Bull grunted, looking up at where the crack in the Veil used to be.

“All the more reason to close the Breach quickly,” she replied. “Let’s go.”

Though she had not counted on a warm welcome by the mages, Remy had not expected the glares they received as they walked into Redcliffe to be quite so short of homicidal. The very air in the village was filled with hostility and made the hair in the back of her neck stand on end. Added to that the strange time distortions they’d just experienced and the odd report that the mages were not expecting them at all, and it was plenty to make her feel extremely uncomfortable.

As she looked around at her group she could tell she wasn’t the only one. They seemed to have instinctively gathered around her, forming a shield between her and the people staring at them. Varric was nearly pressed against her side, his finger on the trigger of his crossbow and his eyes shifting around nervously. Bull was on her other and even he seemed on edge. The muscles in his arm were tense and he kept curling and unfolding his fingers, ready to reach for his axe when needed. Cassandra went in front, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, and Remy had the strong feeling that it was only her presence and skills as a Seeker that kept the mages from attacking them outright.

Things only got more confusing as they entered the tavern. Fiona stared at her with wide eyes when she mentioned their meeting in Val Royeux and fervently denied it ever taking place.

“Why would we consider working with _you_ , lady Hawke?” she asked sharply.

“Why would _I_ wander into a village full of resentful mages if you hadn’t asked us here?” she retorted, anger whirling in her chest, as it was quick to do these days.

“Something odd is going on here,” Cassandra weighed in. “We saw you in Val Royeux, Grand Enchanter, we are certain of it.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “Now that you mention it, I do feel… odd,” she said slowly. “But it does not matter. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Remy blinked. “So… your freedom was very short lived then? Good to know all the bloodshed and chaos was, in fact, completely pointless.”

“It was necessary for our survival,” Fiona replied angrily. “The templar threat was immediate, we had to do something!”

“And you did the worst thing you could have done,” she spat back. “As you do again and again and when someone calls you out on it, you throw up your hands and play the victim, like you do now!”

Fiona opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by several men entering the tavern. She stepped back and introduced the first as Gereon Alexius. Remy straightened herself up and eyed the magister with suspicion. Though there was nothing wrong with his manners per se, the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. His eyes kept flashing to her hands, probably trying to assess under which glove her mark was hidden, and when they did focus on her face they did not connect with her at all.

“You’re a long way from Tevinter, Alexius,” she said coldly.

“Indeed I am. From what I hear, you have returned home after many years. Has it changed much since you left?”

“Quite.”

“Woman of little words, I see?” he smiled, though it was difficult to imagine a gesture less sincere. “That should make negotiations easy. Come, let us talk.”

The negotiations never came. Shortly after they sat down at the table, the magister’s son seemed to be taken ill and collapsed against Remy. Within moments the magisters had left the tavern, taking the mages with them. Fiona glanced at her on her way out and though the anger had not left her eyes, Remy couldn’t help but notice a hint of fear in them as well. She looked at the note that the young man - Felix - had shoved in her hand and passed it to Varric.

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger,” he muttered, before handing it to Cassandra.

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed as she read the words herself. “There’s no telling who or what will be waiting for us there,” she said.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out then,” Remy replied, heading for the door. “Something isn’t adding up here and we’re not leaving until we know what.” _Nor am I going back to Haven and tell Cullen he was right_ , she added angrily to herself.

 

The thick doors to the Chantry managed to hide the chaos they found within well. A mage, who could only be Tevinter or Orlesian judging by the shape of his mustache, was rather impressively fighting off a number of demons that had spilled from a rift.

“Good!” he exclaimed, seemingly unfazed by the scene he was in. “You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

The battle was over sooner than she liked, in no small part due to the other mage’s efficiency. Anger and annoyance were still lingering in her body, the short fight not being enough to get rid of them. Demons made nasty enemies, but at least she didn’t need to feel too conflicted over killing them, though Solas’ influence was rapidly ruining that for her too. She watched the last one get decimated by a blast from the mage’s staff and she raised her hand. The rift closed with a crack and he came towards her, eyeing her hand with curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he said in the same lightness of tone as before. “How does that work, exactly?”

“No idea,” she grunted. “Can’t say I care.”

“Really?” He smiled and looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “How odd.”

“Why?”

“You bear a previously unknown magical mark that gives you a power that no one else has and is exactly what is needed to fix the crisis at hand, and you don’t want to know how it works?” he asked, clearly amused. “I find that odd. Are you sure you’re a mage?”

“Quite sure,” she snorted. “It is the number one reason for hating me.”

“Beautiful and pissed off,” he chuckled. “We’re going to get along famously.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked him over. Though she wondered if she could take anything coming out of his mouth seriously, there was nothing of Alexius’ insincerity in his manner. He watched her with a genuine openness and a sense of wonder that made him look younger than she guessed he was. “Who exactly am I going to get along famously with?”

“Ah,” he laughed. “Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He made a small bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“I’m sort of crap today actually, Dorian of House Pavus, but thanks for asking.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” he smirked. “You, of course, are Remy Hawke; Champion, Viscountess and Mage Hunter of Kirkwall...” He drew out the ‘a’ in mage in a spooky voice. “And now the Herald of Andraste. Do you have a thing for titles?”

“Hardly, but for some reason people keep giving them to me,” she sighed, throwing up her hands. “At some point I decided I might as well start a collection.” He chuckled brightly and she couldn’t suppress a small smile herself. “Can you explain to me what’s going on around here?” she asked.

“Not only can I do that, I will also offer you something that will undoubtedly make your day much better.” His teeth were nothing short of glittering when he flashed her a dashing smile.

“Really? What’s that?”

“Why, me, of course!”

A long silence fell. “Before I ask what that entails,” she smirked, “want to get started on that explanation?”

“Oh, all right,” he sighed. His expression turned serious as he told her about the time magic Alexius used to steal the alliance from under their noses. “Not only was Alexius my mentor, I helped develop this magic. So to answer your other question, I’m sure you can see that my assistance should be valuable.”

“Time magic?” she repeated blankly. “Okay… let’s put aside how insane that is for the moment. Why is your old teacher going through such trouble to get a couple of extra mages? Are you guys running low in Tevinter?”

“Hardly,” he huffed. “I’m afraid as to his motives I am as much in the dark as you are.”

“Then let me enlighten you.”

They turned around to find Felix coming towards them. He explained about a cult his father joined, called the Venatori; Tevinter supremacists with an unhealthy obsession for her or rather, she guessed, judging from the way Alexius had leered at her hands, for her mark.

“So he found out we were going to approach the mages for help with the Breach and then he reversed time so he could be here in time for me to arrive?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Dorian replied, nodding eagerly.

She looked back at her companions who all had been oddly quiet throughout her exchange with the two mages. Cassandra’s face was set, revealing no emotion or thought in any way. Varric had his head angled to the side, his eyebrow pulled up further than ever before, and she could see him wonder how he could ever make any of this believable. Bull had his arms crossed in front of him and wore an angry frown. “Vints,” he grunted.

“Okay then,” she sighed, turning back to the two men. “So I guess when he contacts us it is with some plot to capture or kill me or something?”

“Most likely,” Felix agreed, looking apologetic.

“Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage,” Dorian offered, clearly in an attempt to be helpful. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But when you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

“You could come with us, you know,” she said, pointing towards the door. “We can meet you outside the village.”

“Please,” he smiled, flashing his teeth again. “That wouldn’t be nearly dramatic enough. Don’t worry, Gorgeous, I’ll find you.” He winked and turned away, disappearing into the shadows.

She watched the place where he’d vanished and huffed a laugh. Felix left the Chantry as well and her companions came to stand around her.

“See?” Varric smirked. “Told you what happened in Orlais would end up feeling normal.”


	17. 9.34: In Too Deep

The streets were still stained with blood, though the bodies of the dead had been removed and the injured were being taken care of in the clinic and several improvised infirmaries. Cullen quickly made his way through the city, clutching her note in his hand.

He’d been on his way back to the Gallows after mediating the aftermath of the Qunari invasion, when a boy had come running up from behind and shoved the piece of paper in his palm before swiftly disappearing down an alley. His pace had increased immediately when he recognized her handwriting in the two words that had been scrawled onto the surface.

> _Our place_

Once they got back to the island, he lingered in the courtyard, watching his men as they entered the templar wing, before turning around and quickly following the winding steps that led down to the back of the prison. The sun had already half sunken into the sea as he stepped out onto the dock, coloring the water a deep red.

“Cullen.”

He’d walked right by her in his haste and she was getting up from the floor as he turned around. Her movements were stiffer than usual and she seemed to be avoiding putting weight on her right leg.

“There you are.” He quickly walked up to her and stroked her hair back. There were traces of a bruise around her eye and her armor was stained and scorched in places. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” she said, stepping back. “I’m sorry. I… I know we haven’t talked in a while and you must be busy. I just… really wanted to see you.”

He swallowed, noticing how hard his heart was pounding just from seeing her again. “Don’t feel bad,” he said softly. “I’m glad you did. I... I’ve missed you.”

She sighed and hesitated a moment before she moved closer again to hug him, resting her head against his armored shoulder. “... Me too.”

After a while he pulled away, took her hand, and led her to the dock where they sat down at the water. “Can you help me out?” he asked, as he removed his gloves and began to undo the buckles holding his spaulder.

Her eyebrows drew down uncertainly. “Cullen…”

“Not for that,” he smiled. She didn’t look completely convinced, but moved over and helped him with the straps that were harder to reach, removing the plating until he was only wearing his linen doublet . “Come here,” he said, holding out his arm. A wide smile spread across her face and she slid towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against his neck. He held her close as they looked out over the sea, savoring the feeling of holding her again and noticing just how much he’d longed for her company.

“So…” he said after a while. “Champion of Kirkwall, huh?”

“I guess so,” she chuckled. “What does that even mean? Do I take part in parades or something?”

“Well, I do think you’re expected to dress up for next Satinalia.”

“I will if you will.” She lifted her head, smirking. “We could go together, you know. Make a horse. I think you’d be great as the behind.”

He huffed a short laugh. “I think I’ll volunteer for an extra shift of guard duty.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, before resting her head against him again. “Wuss,” she murmured affectionately.


	18. Turning Tides

Cullen had been watching Hawke throughout the day, waiting for the right moment to speak with her. Nausea lingered in his stomach and though he hadn’t eaten anything, he still felt the constant threat of having to retch the moment he would accidentally make a wrong motion. He tended to wake up with the feeling since he’d quite the lyrium, but now it had lingered throughout the day, likely not helped by the nerves that bundled in his chest whenever he imagined the conversation he was about to have.

Outside of brief encounters they hadn’t spoken since he confronted her in the woods and the last few weeks she’d gotten increasingly stubborn, striding through the camp with her companions like she owned it. The people loved her for it and she spent a lot of her time telling stories to the children with Varric and helping out the refugees, though she stayed as far away from the training grounds as possible. Despite her lack of piety she had also become surprisingly close with Cassandra and somehow every meeting they’d had in the war room had ended with them getting their way.

In the early afternoon he finally caught her by herself when she took her horse out of the stables to brush him down. If Leliana’s scouts were accurate, which they tended to be, his time was running out. He took a deep breath and pushed back his shoulders, ignoring the knot in his stomach as he walked up to her.

“Hawke.”

She let go of her horse’s hoof and straightened up. “Something wrong?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his approach. “I’m not late for the meeting am I?”

“No, I wanted to see you before. You know we’re on the fence on whether we should go after the mages or templars —”

“Like you’re on the fence about everything,” she mumbled.

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he breathed in sharply. “I just want to make sure you’re going to do the right thing,” he said, trying hard to keep the frustration out of his voice.

She shot him a glance from across the horse and turned away to get the saddle. “What would the right thing be?” she asked, her back turned towards him while she adjusted the stirrup.

“We go get the templars.” He walked around to stand in front of her, placing his hands on the saddle and leaning into her. “They respect you. They’ll listen and we _will_ close the Breach with their help, I promise.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stepped back and nodded towards the saddle. “Can I have that?” 

As much as he tried to figure out what was going on in her mind, her face was not giving him any information. All he could read from her was thinly veiled annoyance. He pushed back up, releasing the saddle, and she swiftly took it to lift it over the horse’s back.

“Somehow I didn’t feel the love from the templars we met in Val Royeux,” she said. “Come to think of it, back in Kirkwall they weren’t big fans of me either by the time I left.”

“And the mages are better? They all hate you.”

She froze momentarily. “Subtle.”

“Look.” He went to stand beside her and placed his hand over hers, forcing her to stop fastening the straps. “It is insanity to try and take Redcliffe castle. Not to mention the hole in the sky that makes every mage an even bigger danger than usual. Even if they want to work for you, the risk is too great.”

“Really?” she said, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Am I about to explode into an abomination?”

“You know what I mean,” he growled.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

She was staring him down, not angry per se, but defiant to the bone. “Don’t you think you gave up the right to an opinion when you turned down the position of Inquisitor?” he said sharply. “If you hadn’t gotten that mark you wouldn’t even be here, leaving us to sort out the mess!”

“Except I did get the mark and have been sorting out the mess ever since," she snapped back, glaring as she crossed her arms.

He stared at her and slowly shook his head, hardly feeling he knew the woman in front of him. “What happened?” he asked. “You used to trust my opinion.”

“Oh, come on!” she scoffed. “Don’t try to guilt-trip me. Trusting your opinion doesn’t mean I always have to agree with it.”

“Well, I guess at least you’re being honest about it for a change.”

Something flashed in her eyes and she opened her mouth to reply, when someone called out to them from the gate. They turned to see Leliana standing near it, a raven on her shoulder and a letter in her hand… the letter they’d been waiting for. Hawke patted her mount on the neck and turned away. “Master Dennet,” she called. “Please ready the other horses. We’ll leave after the meeting.” The horse master grunted in consent and she walked off towards the village.

Cullen stood still for a moment and inhaled sharply to push back the nausea that had risen to his throat. She was already at the gate when he caught up with her. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

She ignored him. Varric was sitting in his regular spot with the Iron Bull, who looked up when they approached. “Hey boss,” the Qunari greeted her, “what’s the plan for today?”

“I got something for you and the Chargers down south,” she replied. “Varric and I will leave after the meeting, we can travel down together.”

“You’ve already decided then?” Cullen asked, staring at her incredulously.

Her expression was flat as she looked at him. “We'll see how the meeting goes.” She walked off, leaving him to glare at her back once more.

Varric observed him from the corner of his eyes while he fiddled with his crossbow. “I think our Champion is back,” he said smugly.

Cullen scowled at him and paced after her towards the Chantry.

 

The letter from Alexius had been exactly what he’d expected. Cullen’s stomach coiled at the insincere flattery of it, the arrogance, the obvious deceit. Sadly - though hardly surprising - the meeting was not going at all how he’d hoped. Hawke’s preference was clear and so far they’d been going back and forth for what felt like hours.

“If you go in there you’ll die, and we’ll lose our only means to close these rifts,” he argued, staring her down. “I won’t allow it.”

She threw him a skeptical look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t make this personal,” he warned.

“This is personal, whether I make it so or not.”

“If we don’t even try to meet Alexius,” Leliana interjected, “we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!” Hawke raised her eyebrows and cast him a triumphant look.

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war,” Josephine explained. “Our hands are tied.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to object. “The magister —”

“Has outplayed us,” he grunted.

“I won’t accept that,” Hawke said, crossing her arms. “Find another solution.”

“When will you —”

“There is another way in!” Much to his dismay, Leliana explained of a passage into the castle and he watched Hawke’s eyes go wide with excitement.

“If we go in to distract the magister,” she told the spymaster, “your agents can go through and take out his men.”

“Too risky,” Cullen objected. “You would be —”

The door burst open and a man walked into the room with an exaggerated swagger. He was tan, with an overly groomed mustache and hairdo. Judging from the staff strapped to his back he was, because of course he would be, a mage. “Fortunately, you’ll have help,” he announced.

Cullen glared at the new arrival, recognizing him as the other Tevinter she mentioned in her last report, and then at Hawke, who was smiling broadly at his sudden appearance. “You were right, that was a lot more interesting,” she nodded. “Were you listening at the door to make that perfectly timed appearance?”

“Oh no, dear, there’s no need for that. It’s like a sixth sense,” he replied, tapping a finger against his temple. “Takes years of practice, but making the correct entrance is an important social skill.” She laughed and the sound that usually made his chest flood with warmth now made Cullen’s lungs feel as if a giant fist had clenched around them and squeezed them shut. The man turned to the other people in the room. “You won’t get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” he declared. “So I’m coming along.”

It was all he could take. His sudden appearance, his air of arrogance, Hawke’s apparent joy at and approval of both. He slammed his hands on the table and leaned towards her. “This entire plan is insane!” he growled. “Now you’re trusting the aid of a magister? We have an invitation from the templars, abandon this nonsense and go talk to them!”

“Yes, because trusting templars has always worked out so well for me in the past.” Her tone was sharp, her eyes cold. He felt his own widen as he swallowed the insult.

“Also, I am an Altus,” the mage sighed.

Hawke continued to gaze at him a while longer before she broke away and turned to the rest of the group. “I will not leave anyone following an extremist cult, tampering with time magic, and with an army of mages at his disposal unattended. Get your men into position, Leliana. We will leave for Redcliffe within the hour.”

She turned quickly to avoid his eyes and the Altus cast an intrigued look in his direction before following her out. The other advisors exchanged glances, but none of them spoke as they left to attend to their duties. Cullen drew in a sharp breath and remained still until he was sure she had put enough distance between them to not run into her again. His fingers went numb from how tightly he had grasped the pommel of his sword. He really needed to hit something right now.


	19. 9.36: Few and Far Between

The moon was high in the sky when Cullen made his way down the steps, casting sharp shadows in between the narrow alleys. Likely she’d be gone by now, but at the very least he could take a break himself from the insanity inside of the prison. To his surprise she was still there, sitting on the wall while she looked out over the sea.

“Hey.”

She turned around and smiled. “Hey you. I was about to leave. What took you?”

“Meredith. She was going on about…” He sighed and decided he actually didn’t want to waste what little time he had with her by thinking more about the issues in the Circle. “Ah, never mind.”

“If you say so…” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You look tired, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” She extended her hand to him. “Come over here.”

With another sigh he moved in front of the wall and positioned himself between her legs, leaning back against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, gently stroking his hair and massaging his temples. He let his head hang back on her shoulder, cherishing the feeling of friendly comfort that was even rarer to find these days than it already had been.

The slow rushing of the sea and her gentle touch soon made his worries dissipate, though he knew they’d return the moment she would leave. He turned around and placed his hands on her waist, laying his forehead against hers. For the life in him, he didn’t want her to go. He felt her smile and she continued to stroke his hair with both her hands, letting her fingers trail down the sides of his face and his shoulders.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah…” he murmured. “Tensions have been rising lately. It’s good to see you.”

“I’ll be in town for a while,” she said to his relief. “Just let me know when you can meet.”

“I got nights off for the coming week, assuming Meredith doesn’t get ideas again.”

“I’ll be here.”

He breathed deeply and buried his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around and pushing himself against her. “… Thanks.”

Her voice carried softly across the water as she sang from the Chant. Her knowledge of the verses was limited and she filled in the blanks with hums and other words, but it did not matter. Her arms were warm around him and she continued to caress him with soft strokes of her fingers. For the briefest of moments he felt completely at peace.


	20. In Hushed Whispers

As soon as they stepped out of the time rift, Remy rounded on Alexius. With a volley of shots from her staff he was thrown off his feet and flew several meters through the air. She continued to advance, adrenaline and anger clouding her mind, until someone grabbed her by her arms. She struggled against the grip, but Dorian held her tightly to his chest.

“Enough, dear. It’s over.”

The warmth of his arms penetrated her skin and brought her back from her haze. She gave one last half-hearted tug. “All right…” she sighed and he relaxed his grip. “Take him to Haven,” she ordered the Inquisition’s squad, giving Alexius the foulest look she could muster.

She turned to find Varric’s eyes. To her relief they were his regular shade of brown instead of glowing red, and they looked at her in confusion. Within a few quick strides she was in front of him and threw her arms around his neck, causing him to stumble backwards as she dropped to her knees.

“What in the Void did you do to her, Sparkler?” he asked, patting her gingerly on the back.

She pushed away, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Wasn’t him, you brought this on all by yourself.” His confounded expression made her laugh and she brushed her tears away with the back of her hand. “I’ll explain later.”

The doors to the hall were thrown open and guards marched in, followed by a noble woman. Remy got up and stepped back, her hand clutching Varric’s shoulder as she tried to get her shaking knees under control. She only half registered that the woman was in fact the Queen of Ferelden or the things she told the Grand Enchanter, but slowly the firm touch of Varric’s hand on hers helped steel her nerves and she managed to calm down.

When she heard the Queen banish the mages from Ferelden, she looked up. Fiona was staring at Anora, panic in her eyes as she asked her where the mages should go.

“You could come with us,” Remy intervened. “We still need mages to close the Breach.”

She eyed her with suspicion. “And what would the terms of this alliance be, lady Hawke? I hope you do not intend to treat us the way you did the mages in Kirkwall?”

Remy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Grand Enchanter, I would be more than happy to discuss Kirkwall with you at a later time. For now, I hope we can agree the Breach will kill us all if not dealt with. I am asking for your help.”

The elf raised her eyebrow and thought a moment. “It seems we have little choice. We will heed your request, my lady. Whatever your actions have been in the past, your current efforts seem genuine. Perhaps this alliance will prove educational for the both of us.”

 

Up until the moment she got into her tent that night, Remy managed to keep the visions at bay, but as soon as she was alone they pushed into her mind and it was as if she was back in the throne room. Varric’s eyes were staring at her, red and glowing. Despite what he’d been through, he’d still made jokes, right up until the moment he threw himself into an army of demons, side by side with Cassandra. Her heart stung painfully as she saw them, lying on the floor, their eyes staring into nothingness, and a tearing sensation ripped through her chest as her lungs tensed and spasmed. She wanted to scream, but her magic and her emotions were too jumbled, so tied together that she was fearful of burning the camp to the ground if she let them out.

Something rustled behind and warm arms wrapped around her. “It’s all right, dear,” Dorian whispered next to her ear. “Let it out, it’s all right.” His dispelling wards cast a blanket over the tent, soft and comforting, and she felt her powers dampen, untangling from her pain and grief. She cried. Silently, wrenchingly, all the things she’d held in for so long coming out at once. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach. Dorian leaned over her, the full length of his torso pressed against her back, his face resting in her neck. He shushed her softly, whispered reassurances, and stroked her hair.

Eventually the tension in her body faded, her tears became exhausted, and his warmth flooded her body. “Maker,” she hiccuped. “You’re like a furnace.”

“You can just say it outright,” he chuckled, “I’m hot.”

For a moment she didn’t recognize her laughter as her own. There was a new clearing in her chest, a lightness that felt alien because of how long it had been absent. She sighed deeply, only now noticing she had not been able to breathe freely for weeks, possibly months. Dorian let go of her as she straightened up and turned round to look at him.

She had become wary of new people over time, but there were some things you couldn’t share with someone without trusting them implicitly afterwards. Apparently experiencing and returning from an apocalyptic future was one of them. His grey eyes were sparkling, his ridiculously shaped mustache slightly mushed from being pressed against her head. She reached over to smooth it out. “How much work does it take to keep it like that?”

“Hours, but it’s worth it,” he chortled. “A bit of magic helps.”

She laughed and shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t say that to Cullen, such a frivolous use of magic would make his head spin.”

“He’s the commander, right? The templar?”

“Yeah…” She swallowed. “He’s going to freak when I show up with an army of mages.”

Dorian repositioned himself against her and pulled her closer. She sighed and let her head drop to his shoulder. “There’s a history there, I imagine?” he asked, brushing her hair back.

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me then.”

She frowned and raised her head. “Why?”

“I feed off drama. Also you might feel better.” Dorian’s expression was soft and light. It was a welcome change from all the loaded stares and glances she’d gotten used to receiving.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about him... to anyone.”

“What, not even Varric?”

“Not really. I mean, he knows. But it was a risky situation, the less people knew the better. Also he didn’t really approve, so we never discussed it in much detail.”

“I’m sure I will approve wholeheartedly.” His excited expression made her laugh.

“All right then,” she smiled. “Stay here tonight?”

“As long as you need.”

“Thanks.” She settled back against him and he hugged her tightly.

 

The next night she tried sleeping alone, but the memories returned the moment she closed her eyes. Leliana’s sunken eyes, Varric’s voice mangled with the song of the lyrium, the demons charging at them. It didn’t take long for Dorian to find his way into her tent again, laying himself against her and hugging her to his chest. His presence didn’t absolve the visions completely, but his jokes, questions, and stories were almost enough. After that evening he didn’t leave her side for the remainder of their journey back to Haven, working while riding alongside her during the day, holding her close at night.

She woke early on the last morning, startled by another dream, but didn’t get up. Instead she simply lay against him, enjoying his presence and the warmth of his body. Eventually she heard Cassandra get up and stomp around the camp. The Seeker had been the first one up most mornings of their trip and judging from the noise she was making she was especially eager to get going today.

“She’s got the subtlety of a nuggalope, doesn’t she?” Dorian grunted under her.

Remy pushed herself up from his chest. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he smacked his lips as he slowly woke. “She has other qualities,” she smiled.

He blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes. When they met hers, he broke into a wide smile. “How are you today? Ready to go home?”

“Honestly,” she sighed, “this tent has felt more like home than anything else in the last few years.”

“Well, we can put it up again in Haven, if you prefer. Though I was hoping for a bit more luxury at some point.”

“You’re in Ferelden, the most luxury you’re going to get is a log cabin and a bearskin.”

“Honestly,” he sighed dramatically, “saving the world is almost not worth the hardship I’ll have to endure.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re… going to stay then?”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he smiled at her. “Of course.”

“Thank the Maker,” she laughed, hugging his chest. “You have no idea what a relief that is.”

“Somehow I doubt I’ll get that welcome from everyone.”

“Well… fuck ‘em.”

They got up and readied themselves. For Remy that meant finding which of her shirts smelled the least and strapping on her armor. In Dorian’s case it meant digging into his bags and carefully styling his hair and mustache with some kind of paste that made the whole tent smell of sweet mint leaves, applying some more oils and scents in a variety of places and putting on the clothes he’d cleaned and laid out to dry the night before. He was fussing with the straps on his shoulder when she slapped away his hand and did them for him.

“I’m hungry,” she complained, “will you hurry it up?”

“You reek, don’t sit next to me when I eat,” he retorted.

She playfully punched him in the shoulder and they joined the others outside. Varric was sitting at the campfire, prodding into a pot that hung suspended over it, while Cassandra was noisily breaking down their tents around him and strapping their supplies to the mule. “Took you long enough,” she grunted as she saw them approach.

“Of course,” Dorian replied, "I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the stunning vision that is myself, Cassandra. Perfection takes time however, though I’m happy to put in the effort for you.”

The Seeker made a disgusted noise and continued to clean up around them while they sat themselves down next to Varric. He handed each of them a bowl of broth with whatever he’d managed to shoot that morning and the leftover vegetables. “We should have travelled with the supply caravan that’s coming in from the Hinterlands,” he said, eyeing her with concern. “You look like you could use something more substantial than a scraggly rabbit.”

“They’ll take weeks,” Remy answered. “We’ve got too much work to do in Haven. This is fine, Varric, you did great.” The wrinkles in Dorian’s nose told her he did not agree, but he knew better than to complain. As soon as they’d finished eating, they helped Cassandra pack up the rest of the camp and went on their way.

The last ride to Haven took a little over eight hours and the clenching feeling in her chest slowly got worse the closer they got. When the village finally came into view, Dorian spurred on his mare and rode up next to her, reaching over to touch her on the shoulder. “You okay?”

“For now,” she sighed. “Cullen is going to skin me alive.”

“The plans will work, Rem. Trust me.”

“I do,” she nodded and then turned her head in surprise. “What did you call me?”

“What, Rem?” he smiled. “You don’t like nicknames?”

“No, it’s fine,” she laughed. “It’s just... I hadn’t realized you use my first name. Most people go with Hawke.”

“Hawke is good,” he nodded. “Tough. But I’ll stick with Remy, it’s a bit more personal.” He winked. “Not that your whole killing-everything-that’s-in-your-way-quality isn’t appealing, I like the softer side of you.”

“Didn’t know I had one for a while,” she smiled. “Thanks.”

He inclined his head to her and looked over to the camp. She followed his gaze and recognized Cullen among his trainees. A moment later he walked off and she followed him with her eyes until he disappeared into the Chantry.

“However,” Dorian said thoughtfully, and she saw he also had his eyes fixed on the door of the old building, “if your commander isn’t willing to listen to reason, you might want to go a little Hawke on his pretty behind.”

She sighed and ruffled Tempest’s mane. “We never used to fight, though I guess that makes sense if you never talk about difficult topics. Now I know just why I avoided them for so long. He is so damned perfect and righteous, whenever he looks at me with disappointment it makes me feel insanely small.”

He sharply turned back to her and she was surprised with how serious his expression suddenly was. “I’m sure your decision won’t be popular with everyone, but you did great out there. Don’t you dare let anyone make you feel bad about that.”

“Dorian...”

“I’m serious,” he said, staring at her intently. “I get that growing up between magic-fearing barbarians probably influenced you in your life, but believe me when I say that you are exceptional. Don’t hide yourself and don’t ever apologize for your actions. The burden you bear... anyone who cares about you will help you carry it, not make it harder.”

A new fire ignited in her chest. Not the hot flash that came from the rush of battle or sex, but a slow ember, steadily burning and chasing away the shadows in her heart. “Thank you, my friend.”

He straightened himself up in his saddle and smiled at the last word. They rode the final stretch to the stables in comfortable silence. Though nerves still coiled in her stomach, there was a new calm settling in that made her believe it would all turn out okay.


	21. 9.37: The Last Straw

“Come in.”

Cullen opened the ornate door to the office to find Hawke standing at the grand mahogany desk, her back towards him. Fenris was leaning against a book case in the corner and glared at him as he came in. He kept close to the door and waited until she put down the papers she was holding and turned around.

“Congratulations on your appointment as Viscountess, my lady,” he offered, bowing his head to her.

“The position is not one I ever aspired to, nor one I wish to celebrate, Knight-Captain.”

Her tone was flat. Cullen straightened himself up, unsure of what was coming. She looked down and sighed, giving a short jerk with her head as a gesture to Fenris. The elf frowned and his eyes quickly darted from her to Cullen and back.

“Are you sure?”

She gave a small nod, smiling faintly, and he inclined his head to her before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. For a while she didn’t speak, but simply stood there, leaning on the edge of the desk while she gazed at the tile floor. Cullen shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The silence became heavier the longer it extended.

“I believe you to be a good man, Knight-Captain,” she said suddenly. “Despite your distrust of mages, you’ve always been fair in your treatment of them. Always listened to reason, your values and sense of justice prevailing over any personal feelings you may have had. And I have considered you a valued friend.”

Her tone did not match at all with the sentiment of her words. He blinked. “Thank you.”

She raised her head. He could see the weariness in her face now, dark circles lining her eyes from worry and lack of sleep. “Which is why I want to give you a chance to explain to me why, after everything I’ve done over the years, everything we’ve been through… you were ready to arrest me at the Gallows the other day.”

He swallowed. “The knight-commander wanted to bring you in because of your connection to the mage that destroyed the Chantry. She said it was to debrief you, question you about your involvement.”

A cold anger flashed in her eyes, but seemed to be quickly extinguished by her tiredness. “My involvement?” she asked quietly. “And you believe that the knight-commander, who has wanted me locked up or worse for years, would have simply released me after?”

“I...”

No, Meredith would not have wanted to let her go. He had known that. He had not liked it, of course, but she was still his commanding officer, no matter how erratic her actions had become. She had listened to them when they wanted to spare the mages that surrendered, he had told himself Hawke would be treated fairly as well. But with how the events had turned out, clearly he had been wrong.

 _I didn’t let her kill you._ The thought flashed through his head and he heard how pathetic it sounded. He had known her for years. They had supported each other, fought side by side, _been_ together… He searched his mind, frantically looking for something to say that would make it better, would make them okay. But there was nothing.

His thoughts must have been mirrored in his eyes because she looked at him, pain and sadness on her face, and sighed as she bowed her head. For the longest time neither of them spoke, but when she broke the silence her voice was steady and neutral, sending a chill up his spine.

“It seems most of the population is in favor of me taking office, so I will do what I can. Now that we’ve dealt with the immediate crisis, we need to restore some form of order. I think it best the few mages we spared are transferred to the nearest Circle. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” he replied, straining to get the word past the constriction in his throat. “I will arrange for their transport.”

“Good. When that’s done, can I trust you to work with Aveline to keep the peace in the city? No doubt there will be resistance from the underground mages, the templars will be needed.”

He yearned for her to look up, smile at him like she used to, but she didn’t. Instead she kept her gaze firmly down, her face shielded from scrutiny. “Yes, messere.”

She nodded and walked around the desk, continuing to avoid his eyes, where she picked up some of the papers and flipped through them. “I will begin preparations for reconstruction as soon as emergency facilities have been established for those whose homes were damaged. Aveline is in her office, please see her on your way out. I’ll need a written report on the damage in the Gallows. That’ll be all.”

The finality of her words caused a sharp tug in his chest. She continued to rifle through the papers, sometimes scribbling something on them, or pausing to read more thoroughly.

“Hawke...”

“ _That_ … will be all, Knight-Captain.”

He swallowed hard and turned around. Slowly, he made his way to the door - hoping, wishing - that she would call him back. As he closed the door behind him the reality sank in, making his stomach turn. They would never be the same again.


	22. In Raised Voices

A raven had arrived with word of the events at Redcliffe, though information had been scarce. The magister’s plan had been thwarted and the aid of the mages secured. Cassandra’s curtly note did suggest more had happened, but she did not elaborate.

Cullen bashed hard on the training dummy, frustrated with the increased frequency of his headaches. That morning he had woken up with another one, after reliving his fight with Hawke in his sleep. Her ice cold glare and her words were again fresh in his mind and the sting between his eyes flared up whenever he thought of them. Since she’d left, he had been rehearsing what he would say to her as soon as she returned. He angrily repeated the lines in his head, punctuating them with whacks of his sword, determined to not let her trample all over him again.

The horn from the watchtower rang through the valley. Over the hill a small party of horses was approaching, the striking color of Hawke’s gelding clearly visible amongst them. Cullen forcefully tossed away the practice weapon and made his way to the Chantry to inform the others. Cassandra joined them first and quickly elaborated on her report.

“She did _what_?” His carefully prepared words vanished from his mind as panic gripped at his chest. Several hundred mages were on their way. Not as conscripts like he’d anticipated, which would have been bad enough, but equal allies. They were not prepared, did not have nearly enough templars, did not know how many of these mages were even properly trained. “That’s absurd! We can’t possibly let that decision stand! We need to be able to control them.”

“What do you want to happen, that we take them prisoner?” Leliana challenged him, raising an eyebrow. “How about you give them a chance to prove themselves first?”

“It’s not a matter for debate! There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared.”

Hawke walked in, followed closely by the Tevinter mage, and stood besides Cassandra. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance it would make the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!” Josephine said.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?” he asked Hawke. “The Veil is torn open!”

A muscle twitched in the corner of her eye. “We need their help with the Breach. We’ll try to —”

He cut her off, rounding on Cassandra instead. “You were there! How could you let her do this?”

The warrior opened her mouth to reply, but it was Hawke’s voice that answered. “Let me?”

It had hardly been more than a whisper and for a moment Cullen wasn’t sure she’d spoken at all. When he looked at her it cost him all he had not to flinch. She was glaring at him, eyes cold and hard, hot rage bubbling behind the brilliant blue.

 _“Let me?!”_ she thundered. The air crackled around her and a sudden wind stirred up, making the candles flicker and die out and slamming the doors to the Chantry shut. “So far, you have been more than happy to send me out to do your dirty work,” she hissed, stepping towards him. “Not only that, you’ve been looking to me from the moment I arrived for each and every decision, because you can’t agree on anything. I have been giving everything I have to this organization and I will be damned if I am suddenly to be treated like a naughty apprentice because what I decide while I’m out there risking my neck doesn’t align with your interests, _Knight-Captain_.”

Cullen gritted his teeth. “Would you all excuse us a moment?” he growled.

The women exchanged glances, but turned away and left to continue their duties or, more likely, find a door to listen behind. The Tevinter waited around, looking at Hawke expectantly.

“It’s okay, Dorian.”

He nodded and shortly squeezed her arm. “See you later.” She smiled in response and Cullen felt his lungs wince painfully.

They stared at each other until they heard the Chantry door close again. “All right,” she said as it banged shut. “Spit it out.”

 _“What is wrong with you?”_ he shouted. “You’re letting a bunch of mages who allied with _Tevinter_ come here, without giving us the authority or the means to govern them? How can you do this after Kirkwall?”

She shook her head and laughed in disbelief. “Oh, you and I must have a very different memory of Kirkwall. Is it not Meredith’s _governing_ that led to mages being randomly executed or tranquillized, locked away in cells like criminals, and a full on fight that killed dozens of innocent people?”

“You were with us in that fight! You supported us!”

“Because I had no choice!” she yelled. “Because of you! And Carver! And because a single person forced the situation and I thought it was the only right thing to do! That does not change that I do not believe in the Circles or that I support mages who want things to be different. I’ve been an apostate my entire life, Maker’s sake, if I thought the system was so great I would’ve turned myself in a long time ago!”

“Is that why you did this? Make up for choosing to fight with the templars at Kirkwall, show your fellow mages that you’re loyal to them? Never mind if it gets us all killed by abominations, what’s a few more lives on top of all the ones that they have cost already?”

Her eyes grew wide and she turned away, muttering something under her breath.

“What?!”

“How is it possible,” she screamed, rounding on him, “that after ten years you know this little about me? Do you think I'm an idiot? That _I_ do not see the dangers of magic? I don’t give a shit what other people think of me, Cullen! This is about doing the right thing!”

“Blowing up the Chantry was the right thing? Allying with Tevinter? Running Redcliffe’s citizens and Arl out of their homes?”

“No! Maker’s cunt, you’re not listening to a thing I’m saying. I do not agree with their choices, but that does not give me the right, nor the wish, to take away their freedom!” She shook her head and breathed in sharply. “Either way, this isn’t even about that. It’s about closing the Breach, for which we need their help, and whatever is still to come after. Leashing them is just going to make them resent us in the long run.”

He stared at her. Her eyes were flaming, the line of her jaw sharp from the tension in the muscles as she gritted her teeth. Never had she looked at him like this. “Does that Tevinter have something to do with this?” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “Did he do something to you?”

Her mouth fell open. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered. “I don’t fucking believe this…” She walked away, clawing at her hair with her hands. After several deep breaths she turned back to him, her voice low and steady as she spoke. “Yes, Cullen, he did something to me. He saved my life. All of our lives, actually. So Maker help me if you say one word against him, or further insinuate that because I have an opinion you don’t agree with I must not be in control of my own mind.”

The silence in the Chantry was deafening as they stared at each other. She hugged her arms to her chest and shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Hawke…” he said, stepping forward.

Her eyes snapped up at him, shooting daggers. “What could I have _possibly_ done,” she growled, “that you think this little of me?”

The words seemed to knock the air out of his lungs. He reached out to touch her elbow, but she stepped back. “Hawke, please —”

“This is my report on the future we saw,” she said, reaching into the pouch on her belt and pulling out a set of documents. “In threefold. It was all bad, but there are some specifics that require our immediate attention.” She pushed the papers in his hand and he noticed an uncharacteristic shakiness to her usually neat handwriting. “This,” she said, reaching into the pouch again to pull out a thick scroll, “outlines the security precautions I worked out with Dorian and Cassandra on the way back to limit problems with the mages. I also think it’s a good idea to start templar training with a selection of soldiers, though we might want to consider keeping that a secret. I don’t want the mages to feel like they’re being watched. I’m taking the night off, but we’ll start work in the morning. Please relay those reports to Leliana and Josephine, Cassandra and I will meet you in the war room first thing.”

Cullen stared at the papers in his hand, while she turned and walked towards the door. He wanted to call out to her, but his voice was sticking in his throat. “Hawke…”

She paused. “I can’t do this now, Cullen,” she said quietly. “Please leave me alone.”

The candles flickered back on as the door closed behind her.


	23. 9.39: Farewell

“Where will you go?”

Varric had sat himself down in the chair she’d spent the lion’s share of her time in for the past months. He had thrown his feet up on the tabletop and was doodling on a scrap of parchment, while he watched her rummage around the office.

“You’re getting mud on my desk,” she replied, flicking through documents and tossing them in the fire.

“You hate your desk.”

“I used to hate my desk. Wake up drooling onto a surface often enough and you grow oddly attached to it.” She tossed the rest of the papers into the hearth and gestured to one of the shelves above. A selection of books floated down and hung suspended in the air in front of her. “I guess I’ll head to Weisshaupt first,” she said absentmindedly, tilting her head to read the spines. ”Best bet to find the Wardens.”

“You think they’ll know something?”

“Sure hope so, don’t have much else to go on if they don’t.”

For a while they didn’t speak, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire, the scratching of his quill and the thumping of books as she sorted them into different piles.

“Did you talk to him?”

She froze for a moment, letting ‘Hard in Hightown: Chapter Three’ hover above the piles. With a flick of her hand it landed on the ‘keep’-stack. “No… I didn’t.”

“Are you going to?”

“And tell him what, exactly?” She turned to look at him. “I’ve barely spoken to him in months, what could I possibly say now?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You can’t just leave.”

Another shelf load of books came gliding down and hovered in the air. She sighed, staring at the spines without seeing the letters. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

She heard him get up and move around the desk. “Hawke.” The callousness of his fingers was rough on her skin as he touched her elbow. She took a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“This is so stupid,” she laughed, her voice trembling. “How can I be upset over something that never was anything to begin with?”

They stood in silence, his thumb rhythmically stroking her arm. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground while she regained her composure. One of the many great things about Varric was that he didn’t coddle.

“Go.” Thin creases lined the corners of his eyes as he smiled at her. “You know you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t.”

“Ugh…” she groaned, throwing her head back. “Why are you always right?”

“Because I am much smarter than you and an expert in many fields, including, but not limited to, impossible romances.” He smirked and clapped her on the shoulder. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll have your stuff sent to the house.”

“Thanks, Varric.” She grabbed her cloak from the floor and draped it around her shoulders. “I’ll write to you as soon as I can.”

“Damn right you will.”

 

Her cloak flowed behind her in the crisp night air. Kirkwall was quiet, the moonlight tinting the white city a soothing blue. The torches lining the walls flickered as she walked by, resonating with the soft ripples her movement created in the Veil, like a stone skipping over the surface of a pond. She avoided the main roads, instead weaving her way through the back alleys, enjoying the fresh air and solitude.

She’d barely been out of the office since she accepted her position, often opting to sleep in the Keep rather than go home. Her work kept her tied to her desk for the larger part of the day anyway, and it had become increasingly difficult to be out in the city. During daytime it was impossible to go anywhere without being mobbed by hordes of citizens, either with requests, complaints, or both. Fortunately at night all she had to do was avoid the corners where angry rebels hung out, a skill she had perfected a long time ago.

The sea was turbulent that evening. Angry waves rolled in from the east and crashed against the docks. She pulled her hood up against the wind as she stepped out onto the pier. The Gallows loomed dark in the harbor, the torches unable to stay lit by their exposure to the gale. Her eyes drifted over the structure, lingering on the area that housed the templar wing, and she swallowed against the nerves gathering in her throat.

“Evenin’, ma’am.” An older man with a bushy beard had emerged from the hold of a small vessel that lay anchored in the harbor. A scar ran down his face, cutting across from his right eyebrow to the left corner of his mouth. “Haven’t seen you down ‘ere in ages. You’re well, I trust?”

“Good evening, Ned,” she replied. They’d first met during the Qunari uprising when the fisherman had been one of the first to leap to arms. She’d made a point of checking in on him whenever she was in the area since then. “Quite well, and yourself? You are working late.”

“Ah, I picked up some extra shifts, ma’am,” he grunted. “We found out my Sophia’s got a little one on the way, so I’m trying to set aside some money for her.”

“You’re going to be a grandfather?” she smiled. “Congratulations, do let Varric know when the baby is born. I’d love to send Sophia something.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I’m sure she’d be delighted at that,” he replied, bowing his head. “Do I take it you will be leaving town then?”

“Yes. Tonight actually, as soon as I settle some business.”

“That business be taking you to the Gallows? I’d take you there, but it ain’t easy sailing with these winds, I’ll tell you.”

“Ah…” she smirked. “Good thing I don’t need to sail then.”

“That is a neat trick you do, ma’am,” he said, letting out a low, rumbling chuckle. “One hopes mages don’t start going into the fishing trade, they’d put us out of a job in no time at all. I bid you a safe journey then. Do look us up next time you’re in town.”

“Will do, Ned. Give my regards to the family.”

She glanced behind her to see if there was anyone else around, but besides the old man and herself the harbor was deserted. She raised her hands and chanted under her breath. The winds stirred and drew towards her, causing the water under the pier to swirl around, seemingly confused as to which direction it should be flowing in. She moved her hands forward and the storm bent to her will, making a sharp corner south, straight across the water towards the old prison. The water in the passage flowed gently, the waves outside breaking apart on the sudden barrier colliding with their path.

The water froze as she stepped off the pier, small patches of ice crystallizing underneath that supported her every step and melted into the sea the moment she lifted her foot off the surface. The wind blew in from behind, pressing her hood firmly against her head and making her hair fly into her eyes. She breathed in deeply as she walked across the channel. Water sprayed in her face, cold and refreshing, and the sensation of her magic flowing freely after keeping it in check for so long rapidly rid her of her pent-up nerves and frustrations. When she reached the fortress she smoothly hopped ashore and with a wave of her hand the wind resumed its original course.

She had barely made it up the stairs when a templar walked up to meet her. “The knight-captain is expecting you, Viscountess,” he said curtly. "He has asked me to escort you to his office.”

“Has he now?” she mumbled, looking up at the building. ”Better take me to him then.” The young man nodded sharply and turned on his heel. She had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him. “I don’t think we’ve met, recruit,” she said conversationally. “What’s your name?”

“Brent, messere. I joined the Order three months ago.”

“And how are you enjoying your training so far, Brent?”

“It has been a challenge, messere, but it’s worth it. The state the world is in now, there is no better purpose than learning how to fight mages.” She saw the muscles in his shoulders tense as he realized what he’d said. “No offense… Viscountess.”

“None taken.”

They walked through a dark hallway with doors on either side and her escort stopped in front of one of them at the end of it. It didn’t stand out from the others, except for the fact that light shone through the gap underneath.

Brent gave a short bow and left as quickly as he could. She closed her eyes as he walked away. The song was distinct in her head, coloring her mind a deep red. She shook her head to clear the image and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

 

Just like he’d officially refused to take Meredith’s title, he’d also declined to use her office. He had changed rooms however and the one Remy found herself in now was quite much bigger than his old one, large enough to comfortably hold the bed, desk, cupboard and chairs that had been placed inside. Papers lay strewn across the tabletop, though some had spilled over and fallen to the floor. The bed was neatly made, without a single crease in the sheets, and a low fire crackled in the fireplace, bathing the room in warmth.

The only other light came from a candle on the window sill next to Cullen. He was standing with his back turned towards her, looking out of an arched window facing north that gave a clear view of the courtyard below and the Kirkwall skyline.

“Viscountess,” he said, turning around. “It’s been a while.” He kept his expression neutral, though there was something stirring in his eyes she wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Indeed, it has. That is no longer my title though, as of sundown today.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “You have resigned?”

“I have,” she replied, strolling over to the desk and picking up one of the documents. “Bran will take my place. It was time, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer, “you never really were the type for a desk job.”

She smiled and raised her head. His face had relaxed and he was smiling back at her, his eyes regarding her now with a familiar tenderness. She swallowed away the lump that formed in her throat. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I was working.” He gestured to the mess on the desk. “Your sudden change in wind blew my papers away.”

“Ah,” she chuckled. “Sorry about that. Maybe I overdid it a little, I haven’t had much chance to practice lately.”

He walked across the room and fetched a second chair from the corner. “It’s been a busy time,” he said, placing it next to the desk. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for a drink?”

“How very chivalrous, Knight-Captain,” she teased as she sat down and unfastened her cloak. “I would, thank you.”

“Manners are not a big part of templar training,” he said, walking over to the cupboard to fetch a decanter of wine and two glasses, “but I like to think I picked up some here and there.”

“You have, your recruits should take more note. The young man who brought me here for one.”

“Ah,” he said, handing her one of the drinks and sitting down, “Brent. Not my favorite, but he works hard. And I’m not in a position to turn anyone down who is willing, I’m afraid.”

“His willingness is what I find worrying.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m working on him, all right? He’s not touching any lyrium before I think he’s ready.”

She slowly swirled the wine around in her glass. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” A sudden suspicion pulled across his face as he furrowed his brow.

“I can’t be sure,” she asserted, “but I believe the red lyrium Meredith got hold of wasn’t the only piece of its kind. Your recruit just now… I’ve seen the red stuff, heard it. At the very least he’s been around it recently and I’m fairly certain he isn’t the only one.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen groaned. He leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He kept it longer than he used to, smoothing out the curliness of it. “Just the thing we needed,” he sighed, shaking his head and scribbling a note on an empty piece of parchment. “I will look into this, Hawke. Thank you for telling me.”

“I hope to find out more about it when I’m gone. If I come across anything, I’ll send word.”

“Gone?” he asked, nonplussed. “You’re leaving?”

“I am,” she replied, staring firmly out the window. “Before first light.”

 _“Tonight?”_ He shot up from his chair and stared at her incredulously from across the desk.

“Yes… I came to say goodbye.”

He walked over to the window, rubbing the back of his neck. She watched him quietly while he paced up and down. There were new lines in his face and dark circles framed his eyes. His stubble was at a three-day length at least, a lot longer than the groomed trim he used to have. She guessed he’d worked about as much as she had over the last years, if not more.

“You can’t,” he said suddenly. “We only just got the city functioning again, it still needs you.”

“Perhaps it does, but its people have made it clear they don’t want me. There are rallies every day in front of the Keep, Cullen. They aren’t big groups as of yet, but it’s only a matter of time. What happened here made me the enemy of every mage in Thedas, and it’s only gotten worse since the College voted against secession. The gentry is getting nervous. The title of Champion won’t protect me forever.”

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the city. I can spare some men, work with Aveline to up your security detail —”

“Cullen.” She got up and walked over to stand next to him at the window. “I’ve seen templars among the rioters. More and more of them are not happy with a mage being in charge. In fact, I think they may be instigating the opposition. This city is still reeling from the last time our people came to blows, I won’t risk that happening again.”

He swallowed and looked out the window, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breath. “Our people…”

“That’s the reality of it, no?”

“It’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.

“It’s how it always has been.”

A loud bang drew their attention across the water. A flash of light rose from somewhere in the city, followed by faint shouts and the clamor of a fight. A moment later all was calm again.

“I’m sorry… for what happened.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s all right, really. I understand.”

He turned to look at her. “You do?”

“As I said, it's the reality of it.” She met his gaze. “You’re devoted to your purpose, it’s something I always admired. It was foolish to expect differently.” A muscle twitched in his jaw and he averted his eyes, breathing in sharply through his nose. “It’s time we admit it,” she sighed. “We’ve been on opposite ends of a war long before it started.”

“It wasn’t like that all the time,” he said quietly.

“True,” she nodded, “but it’s where we’d always end up eventually.”

He raised his head and looked her in the eye, the amber of his irises shining softly in the moonlight.

“I love you.”

What was left of her heart broke with a resounding crack. For the longest time she had thought nothing could possibly hurt her anymore. The visions of blood and combat, her mother’s death, the betrayals of the people she thought were friends and the constant attacks on her for being a mage had relentlessly chipped away at her being, leaving a permanent hollowness in her core. In a way the razor-sharp pain came as a relief; at least there was still something there that could ache.

“I love you too. That was never the issue.”

He took her hand and drew a deep breath. “First light?”

She nodded and followed him as he walked over to the bed. He sat down with his back against the wall and pulled her down, where she nestled herself between his legs, wrapping her arms around his neck. His scent was warm and heavy; a mixture of fresh leather, parchment, and embers, with a hint of something unique to him that made her head spin. His lips moved against her forehead in silent prayer. When he’d finished she pulled back slightly and let her fingers slowly trace his face, determined to commit its details to memory. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw and his golden eyes shifted back and forth, telling her he was trying to do the same. In his arms she felt warm and safe, the hole in her chest almost restored.

His lips brushed against hers. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for letting me say goodbye.”

She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him, taking his upper lip in between her own and sucking it gently. He moaned softly and pushed in deeper, his hand taking hold of the nape of her neck for support. Fire kindled in her chest and spread down her torso and she pushed against him in a reflex, her body yearning to melt with his touch. His hands travelled down, one settling around her waist to draw her closer, the other continuing on to graze her thigh.

“You better make the most of it,” she breathed and she felt him grin against her skin.

In a single motion he flipped her on her back, positioning himself on top of her. His weight pressed down on her as he burrowed his face in her neck, sucking the skin between his teeth. She gasped, her hips pulsing against him in response to the sharp burn of his mouth. He undid the laces on her corset and pulled it away, moving down to caress her chest with his tongue, his teeth scraping over and nipping at her skin. A desperate moan escaped her and she pulled his head up to kiss him again, her tongue slipping deep into his mouth. He sucked her in eagerly and she felt him pull at her belt.

They worked off their boots and breeches and she nearly ripped the shirt from his chest until they were both naked, their bodies pressed against each other in a tangle of sweat and skin upon skin. The lyrium in his system lit up under her touch, hungry to be close to her power. She felt a faint stirring as wisps were drawn to the disturbance their unison made in the Veil, curious as to what was happening on the other side of the curtain.

Cullen drew himself up onto his hands and pushed inside her. She arched her back, sucking in the air sharply through her teeth, and wrapped her legs around his waist to drag him closer. He groaned heavily, gritting his teeth, and started to move; slow at first, but steadily picking up the pace. As his movements became more violent, he lowered himself down, his forehead against hers, one arm holding her close around her waist while his other hand grabbed her hair. His ragged breath was warm on her face as he rhythmically pounded against her pelvis. She squealed, spurring him on by tightening her thighs around him and pulling at his hips, her nails clawing into his back.

He cried out as he came, his voice muffled when she kissed him, his warmth filling her insides and overflowing onto the sheets. His hips shook and for a moment he was still, before he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top. Her body continued to shake against him, and she listened to the hammering of his heart against his ribs underneath her. As his breath steadied it slowly calmed down, until it resumed its soothing rhythm.

For the longest time she didn’t move, her body numb and not responding to the half-hearted commands from her brain. Eventually she slipped off him and lay herself against him, her knees cracking slightly as she straightened her legs. He held her tight in his arms and nuzzled her hair, and for the rest of the night they talked quietly, catching up on the things that had happened to them like they used to do. Eventually she felt his grip relax around her as he dozed off.

 

The sound of the waves crashing gently on the rocks below drifted in through the window. Overnight the wind had died down, making room for a soft breeze coming in from the south. Cullen’s chest rose and fell gently under her cheek as Remy listened to the steady beat of his heart, while she watched the sky change colors from an endless black to a deep indigo, signaling the nearing sunrise.

She slipped out of the bed and got dressed. He stirred behind her when she sat down next to him to fasten her boots and she felt his fingers touch between her shoulder blades. They traced down her spine, sending a tingling shiver through her body. She grabbed her cloak from the chair and put it on, before turning back to face him. He had propped himself up on his elbow, the sheet draped around his waist. For a moment she watched him, admiring the lines of his muscles that were soft in the faint light of the embers glowing in the hearth. Then she leaned in and rested her forehead against his, found his hands with her own, and laced their fingers together.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” he said quietly.

“Always do, but it tends to find me anyway.”

“I know. Just... take care of yourself, all right?”

“I will if you will.”

She kissed him one last time, drawing out the moment for as long as she could. Then she swiftly turned and left the room. To her relief she managed to avoid any other templars on her way out. Silent tears ran down her face until long after she’d left the city.


	24. Beer and Skittles

Both Leliana and Josephine had scowled at him as he handed them the reports, but managed to keep their opinions to themselves. He quickly made his way to his tent, barked at the guard not to be interrupted, and sat down at his work table. He laid out her report and the scroll in front of him and took a deep breath before starting to read the first.

As he read, he felt a heaviness sinking deeper and deeper into his stomach. She’d always had a talent for getting into trouble no one else could possibly get into. How often had she not come striding into the Gallows after disappearing for weeks on end with some tale about encountering a dragon, caves full of giant spiders, ancient darkspawn prisons, or walking corpses? It wasn’t that his life in the Order had been boring exactly, but whenever she had returned from one of her adventures it felt like she had experienced a lifetime in a matter of days, whereas he had been standing still. Reading her report now was the most extreme that sensation had ever been.

She laid out all the specifics down to the last detail; from the assassination of the Empress, to the red lyrium and its effects, to the time magic that had brought them there and back. Whenever she mentioned one of the Inquisition’s members she’d encountered, her handwriting became uneven and the ink was blotched in a couple of places. Clearly what went down in Redcliffe had shaken her like nothing had done before.

With a sigh he put the report aside after reading it through twice and grabbed the scroll. The seal had her family crest on it, marked by the ring she kept tucked away under her clothes on a string around her neck. “Safety hazard,” she’d told him once, when he’d asked her why she didn’t wear it. “Get it caught on something and you’re dead.”

He loosened the wax carefully, indulging the irrational wish not to break the image. The scroll contained several pages of detailed security measures; wards, enchantments, and magical constructs devised to help strengthen their camp against the influence from the Breach. Some he recognized as techniques used during the training of apprentices in the Circle. Others were completely foreign, though explained in such a way it wasn't hard to understand how they were supposed to work. Much of the details were written in a different hand - probably Dorian’s - and some dispelling techniques were outlined in Cassandra’s barely legible scrawl.

It took Cullen a long while to go through it all and the camp outside had gone quiet by the time he remembered her comment on training up new templars. He got up to remove his armor and grabbed the files with the details on their soldiers. They wouldn’t be anywhere near full-fledged templars in time for the mages’ arrival, but there was quite a number of the recruits that showed real promise and would benefit from more targeted training. He sat back down and cracked his neck and knuckles before settling in for another long night of work, beginning by drawing up a list of possible candidates as well as drafting a preliminary training schedule.

Before he knew it, it was deep into the night. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead to loosen the knots in his shoulders. The finished plans lay before him and he felt confident about presenting them during their next meeting. It would be tight, but at the very least there would be a few more under his command who would know how to act in case of an incident by the time the mages joined them.

He was flipping through the papers with security precautions one more time to double check the plans with his own, when a small piece slipped out and fell to the floor. It had been stuck to the back of one of the pages and didn’t look like anything more than a leftover scrap of parchment. He picked it up and flipped it over. It was blank, except for a small drawing of a bird in the corner.

His finger traced the shape. It felt like forever since he’d received her last letter, but her icon was still fresh in his memory. Throughout the years she had hidden her messages on the backs of leaflets or news reports, leaving her signature on them to let him know. The candle on his desk was burning low and he held the sheet above the flame, waiting for her words to surface. They did just that a moment later, shimmering blue on the yellow paper. He flattened it in front of him and swallowed hard as he read the first line.

> _My dearest Cullen,_
> 
> _I am writing this on our second night after leaving Redcliffe. Though I’ve finished my reports, I can’t help but feel there are no words to truly describe the horror that awaits us should we fail. It has become clear to me that even if we manage to close the Breach, it will only be the beginning of a long, hard-fought battle. I hate the way things have been between us, and am truly sorry for putting you in the position I have undoubtedly put you in by offering the mages an alliance. I do believe however that it is the right course of action and I hope you can support me the way we always have over the years. We’ll be stuck together a while longer it seems, something I can’t say I regret. Right now the Inquisition is the only thing standing between our world and complete destruction, and Cassandra’s best decision so far was recruiting you in it. Please let us work together again the way we used to. I don’t think I can do this without knowing you’re with me._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Hawke_

He sighed and read the letter through several more times, carefully stored it among the few personal effects he’d brought with him from Kirkwall, and headed out to find her, determined to try and set things right.

 

It didn’t take long to locate her. The tavern was never quiet, but tonight it was especially crowded. Loud shouts and cheers reached him before he’d even entered the village. When Cullen pushed his way in the door it immediately became clear why. The Iron Bull and his Chargers had returned as well and were at the center of the party, pushing each other further into an elaborate drinking contest. Also participating were Blackwall and Sera, though they both seemed close to passing out. Varric was walking around with a quill and clipboard, taking bets from the onlooking soldiers, most of whom looked like they should have stopped drinking several beers ago themselves.

Hawke was sitting on one of the tables with Dorian behind her. She had nestled herself between his legs and was leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He had his arms wrapped around her and was grinning broadly as he whispered things in her ear. Either he was extremely funny, or she was really drunk, Cullen thought bitterly to himself, because she couldn’t stop giggling.

Varric finished his lap around the bar and signaled to Bull to start the next round of drinks. The Qunari hollered and started chugging down the pint in front of him, followed by the rest of the group. Their audience rhythmically banged their mugs on whatever surface they could find or each other and yelled encouragements to their favored contestant.

“Hey Curly,” Varric said nonchalantly as he came to stand next to him. “Care to place a bet?”

“Why do I feel you would be the one profiting most if I did?”

“Oh, I give very fair odds,” he smirked. “But I can’t help it if people insist on betting on a losing horse.”

Iron Bull slammed his mug down with a bang and burped loudly. One by one the others followed, except for a dwarf whom Cullen didn’t know by name. He paused, mug in front of his mouth, and for a moment he was still as he statue. Then his eyes rolled up and he fell backwards off the bench, spilling the remainder of his drink over himself. The crowd clapped and jeered and he was dragged off to the side. Cullen looked over to Varric, who was tallying up numbers on his parchment. Judging by his expression this was one of the losing horses he’d anticipated.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, eyeing the dwarf suspiciously. “About today?”

“Do you need me to? I think you feel bad enough already.”

“… Thanks.”

The mugs were refilled and another round began. Bull did not seem to show any signs of tiring and was once more in the lead.

“I know she can be hard to handle, Curly,” the dwarf murmured, keeping his eyes on the contestants. “But you didn’t see her when she came out of that time rift. I’ve seen her pissed off and I’ve seen her upset… but never like that.”

Cullen swallowed. “What was she like?”

“Angry as fuck at first,” he said, frowning. “After that, shaking like a leaf. She didn’t want to talk about it, just wrote it down first chance she got and handed us the report to read.”

The sound of her laughter reached over the din and Cullen’s gaze was drawn towards it. Hawke was still huddled against Dorian, saying something in his ear. He pulled back and said something in reply that made her chuckle, while her hand reached up to touch his cheek. Cullen felt his hand involuntarily ball into a fist as the mage hugged her closer and she rested her forehead against the side of his face.

“Why is he all over her?”

Varric glanced at the table, seeming perfectly unalarmed. “Because she’s drunk and wants someone all over her. You’ve been around her when she’s like that, right?”

He had, but never when he wasn’t the one holding her. “Do you trust him?” he asked the dwarf.

His eyebrow shot up and he shot him a warning glare. “I think he’s the only reason she didn’t completely lose her shit out there. So yeah, I trust him, and so does she. Now, we may not have the best track record with that, but I don’t think we’re wrong here. Is that enough for you?”

Cullen breathed in sharply through his nose, unwilling to look back at the pair sitting further away on the table. He felt Varric’s eyes lingering on him a while longer, but when the dwarf spoke again, his tone had softened considerably.

“If it helps,” he sighed, “you should be happy it’s him with her right now and not one of your soldiers.”

“Really?” he huffed. “Why is that?”

“Let’s say that I’d be willing to bet _you_ are more his type than she is,” he shrugged. “Also don't forget this isn’t my first time in a bar with Hawke. I wouldn’t let her do anything she’ll regret.”

“Ah…” Cullen felt a faint warmth flush to his neck. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said casually. “I don’t think you should try to fix it tonight anymore though, you’ll risk getting something singed. Give her some space.”

“Right,” Cullen murmured, glancing back at the table. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He took his leave and moved away through the crowd. Cullen hesitated a moment, but then walked around to get a drink from the bar and positioned himself someplace where he could keep an eye on her without her noticing him. A short while later, Varric approached the table. She smiled widely when she saw him and stretched out her arms towards him. “Varric!”

“Hey you,” Cullen heard him say while he gingerly patted her on the back. “Are we up to the hugging already? How many drinks have you had?”

“I dunno,” she smiled as she sat back up with her eyes closed, her upper body swaying slightly.

“You missed that butterbile she found on the way back,” Dorian chuckled, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You were talking to the barkeep at the time.”

“Sneaky lady,” Varric grumbled.

Hawke didn’t speak for a while and she simply sat wavering back and forth, giggling to herself, until suddenly her eyes flashed open. “Varric!” she gasped. “Do you know what Dorian can do?”

“I… am not sure I want to know, really.”

She leaned forward until she was at eye level with him. “He plays,” she whispered loudly, “the fiddle.” For a moment she was quiet, staring at the dwarf with eyes wide as saucers, until she burst into a fit of giggles.

Varric pulled up an eyebrow and looked from her to Dorian and back. “I prefer to call it a violin, really,” the mage smirked. “But she finds ‘fiddle’ very amusing at the moment.” She let out another snort of laughter at the word and he gave her an affectionate squeeze with his arms.

“Anyway,” she continued, shaking her head. “Do you know what that means?”

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric sighed, “don’t tell me.”

A mischievous grin spread across her face and she threw her hands up in the air in a cheer. “We can finally make a band!”

“Yes, Varric,” Dorian grinned. “We can make a band! We need percussion though.” He turned towards her and prodded her arm with his finger. “Right, Rem? Tell him your solution.”

She nodded eagerly and pointed across the room towards Bull, who was the only man in the contest still sitting straight at this point. “He likes hitting things,” she said gravely.

At this it was Dorian’s turn to burst out laughing. Varric smiled wearily and patted her on the head, making her push against his hand like a kitten. “Fine,” he sighed, “when you’re able to walk in a straight line again we’ll make a bloody band.”

“Yay,” she murmured, cuddling back up against Dorian.

Cullen concluded that, indeed, it was probably not the best time to talk to her. Though he very much doubted she was capable of anger at this moment, chances were high the next morning she wouldn’t remember anything he’d told her. He got up and took his drink outside, deciding to get some fresh air rather than continue to watch her pluck at Dorian’s mustache.

 

It was a clear night and, despite their mountain location, not too cold. Cullen sat himself down on the steps leading to the Chantry and took a long drink from his mug. It didn’t taste great. Clearly the tavern keep had switched to pouring the cheaper kind, since the people inside were too far gone to taste the difference.

It reminded him of the Hanged Man, though there the quality hadn’t been great at any time of the evening, and he smiled as memories of that night surfaced in his mind. Had she been this drunk then too? He didn’t think so, though she’d definitely been tipsy. There had been a few times in the following years where they would meet and she’d either brought drinks with her or had arrived after clearly having spent time in the dingy bar before. Seeing her like this again after so long was an odd sensation, though he’d never had the unpleasant experience of witnessing it from across the room before.

Varric’s words lingered in his head and Cullen wondered how often he’d been with her in this kind of situation, and who she’d ended up spending her time with those times. He’d always thought he knew her well… but how well did he really, compared to someone like him? He continued to stare into his beer, mulling over the time they’d shared and imagining all the things he’d missed while he was out at the Gallows and she in the city with her friends, until the bang of a door slamming open shook him from his reveries and he looked up to see two figures approaching down the path.

“I have a magic hand, you know.”

“Yes, it’s very pretty. And when you start flailing it around, it means it’s time to go to bed.”

Hawke and Dorian came up from the tavern, heading towards her cabin. He had his arm around her shoulders and supported her while she walked like a baby fawn in heels. Neither of them noticed Cullen and he slid a bit further into the shadows to remain undetected. They were near the gate when a shout came from behind them.

“Oy! Tevinter! Where d’you think you’re going?”

Dorian turned around to look at the aggressor. A group of five men had followed them out of the tavern and moved in on their position. Cullen saw him gently push Hawke away to position himself in front of her. “Why, only to get some fresh air. It does get so stuffy in there, don’t you think?” His tone was light, but the darkness wasn’t enough to hide the hardening of his eyes and the muscles in his arms flexing in anticipation.

Cullen recognized the group as a small mercenary band that had joined the Inquisition only a few days ago. Their leader - a big man, who shaved his head to show off a scar running all the way across it - positioned himself in front of the mage, towering over him. “Don’t you think you’ve had your blood-loving paws on that creature long enough?” he sneered. “How about sharing a bit of the fun?”

Hawke swore something in Tevene and tried to push her way past Dorian, but due to her lack of coordination he managed to keep her back. The man threw his head back and laughed. “Feisty one, isn’t she? I’ll look forward to taming her. Now step aside, you demon-fucker.” He cracked his knuckles and took another step forward, while Dorian was still holding Hawke at bay with one hand, his other crackling faintly with electricity.

Cullen stepped out from the shadows and took a position next to him. “I would rethink that, if I were you.” The mage smiled, clearly relieved at his sudden appearance.

“You’re the commander, yeah?” the brute growled. “You supporting a stinkin’ magister? Thought this group was better than cock sucking blood mages.”

“Well,” Cullen snarled, “perhaps you should take your leave then.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he scoffed. “We will. Just as soon as I’ve mounted that wench.”

Cullen dodged the man’s fist as it shot through the air and smashed his mug on his face. The other members of the group quickly joined the fight, but were thrown back momentarily by Dorian’s mind blast.

“Get her out of here!” Cullen yelled. Hawke was pushing and clawing behind him, trying with everything her drunken body could muster to join in. Dorian nodded and seized her around the waist, pulling her away from the fray.

The leader had doubled over from the hit, but now straightened himself up and launched another attack. Cullen blocked it with his forearm, dodged a blow from one of the hirelings, and prepared to counterattack, but was blindsided by a third fist coming from his left. It hit him sharp in the temple and stars flashed in front of his eyes. He stepped back to get some distance and shook his head to clear his vision, but someone took hold of his arms. The next two hits struck him in the stomach and in the nose, making blood run warm down his face.

“Rem, no!”

A hot flash brushed past his head on the left, immediately followed by another one on his right. Screams sounded around him and a sharp burning smell filled his nose as he was released from the hold and stumbled backwards. The Veil curled angrily when she pushed past and stood in front of him.

“Come on then,” she breathed. “Tame me, you son of a nug.”

The men stormed towards her. Flash fire shot from her hands, hitting the lackeys square in the chest and sending them flying backwards, and she stretched out her arm, making a fist as if she were gripping the air in front of her. The bald man froze in his tracks when he was mere inches away from her and grabbed at his throat, scrambling with his feet as he was lifted into the air. His eyes were bulging out of his sockets and he clawed and scratched at the invisible hand that was choking him.

“Hawke, stop!” Cullen called. He didn’t know if she couldn’t hear him, or simply ignored him. The muscles in her jaw were twitching, her eyes searing with blind rage.

The mercenaries had scrambled back to their feet and advanced on her for another attack. Not releasing her hold on their leader, she stomped with her foot on the ground. A shockwave pulled through the earth from where she’d hit it and the men ran straight into the flames that erupted around her, setting them ablaze. They scrambled around, screaming at the top of their lungs, while the man suspended in the air slowly turned blue, his tongue hanging from his mouth like a purple blob. Slowly but surely, the fire began to spread outwards, getting dangerously close to the wooden structures surrounding them.

Instinct took over and Cullen lunged forward through the ring of flames, grabbing her with both arms. He knelt down, dragging her with him and holding her tightly to his chest while she kicked and screamed, trying with all her might to escape. Without the lyrium, he felt his veins surge with heat as he enveloped them with his cleansing aura and nullified her magic. He tightly shut his eyes and breathed through the scorching pain in his body, determined to maintain the skill while Hawke continued to struggle against his grasp.

The screams died down and in front of them the man fell to the ground with a dull thud. He coughed and gasped for air, until there were the sounds of another scuffle, the sharp clicks of a crossbow, and several voices shouting and cursing. It wasn’t until Hawke had stopped moving and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder that he opened his eyes.

“It’s all right, Commander. I don’t think they’ll be back.” He raised his head to find Dorian looking at him. There were the beginnings of a bruise around his eye and Cullen wondered if it was from the fight, or if Hawke had socked the mage to get away from him when he was being attacked. “Impressive,” he continued with amused admiration. “Templars really are something else here than back home.”

The fire had died out and the mercenaries were gone. Varric, resting Bianca on his shoulder, and the Iron Bull were standing at the gate, looking out over the valley. “Should’ve killed ‘em,” Bull grunted.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Varric replied. “It’s so much more painful to recover from a bolt in your ass.”

They chuckled and turned back to join them, while Cullen felt his body shake as he let go of the dispelling field.

A muffled voice came from within his arms. “Cullen… you’re crushing me.”

“Maker,” he breathed, quickly releasing her. “Sorry.”

She twisted around and studied his face. “You’re hurt.” She reached up to gingerly touch his nose and assess the damage.

“It’s all right,” he mumbled.

“Perhaps it’s better if I have a look, dear,” Dorian said, kneeling down next to them. “Healing under influence can turn out so horribly wrong. You already singed his hair, we don’t want to mess up the pretty commander any further.”

He raised his hand and the blue glow of a healing spell pulled across it, but she smacked it away with an uncoordinated flail of her arm. “Permission!” she said sharply.

Dorian looked at her in amazement. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have to ask permission,” she explained, as if talking to a three-year-old. “Don’t just wave magic in his face, he doesn’t like that.”

Cullen snorted a laugh at the mage’s expression of utter bewilderment, instantly regretting it as it sent a sharp sting though his broken nose. Dorian looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Permission… to fix your nose so you don’t look like a troll?”

“Granted.”

He raised his hand again and moved it across Cullen’s face, who tried to focus on Hawke instead. She took his hand in both of hers and he squeezed her fingers as the bone in his nose cracked back into place. A sharp stab shot up between his eyes, followed by slight burning sensation that eased into a dull throbbing and slowly ebbed away.

“There, good as new.”

“Well,” said Varric, “it isn’t a proper party until someone gets punched in the face. Anyone fancy another drink?”

Bull grunted in approval and turned back towards the tavern. Dorian looked at Hawke, but she shook her head. “Go ahead, I’m good.” He patted her on the shoulder and got up to follow the others. “Come on,” she said, wobbling to her feet and holding out her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

With a flick of her wrist a fire blazed in the hearth, filling the cabin with warmth and light. He was still staggering slightly from the effort of dispelling her magic and the blows he took to his head, so he let her usher him to the bed and push him down to sit on the edge of it. She rummaged around the room and returned with a cloth and wash basin, which filled instantly with water when she moved her hands over it.

“Move back a bit.”

He obeyed and slid further onto the bed. Suddenly she was astride him on her knees and placed a hand on his face, tilting his head back. He stared up at her as she soaked the rag in the bowl and gently began to wipe the blood off his skin. Her pupils were still dilated, but the haziness had lifted from her eyes. They darted back and forth, reflecting brightly in the fire light.

“Hawke,” he breathed.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

She released his jaw and loosened the collar of his tunic to reach the blood that had trickled down. The damp cloth traced down his neck, pleasantly cool against his flushed skin. Her hand slid behind his head and supported it as he let it hang backwards, surrendering himself to her touch. She moved closer and he felt his gut stir under her, her breasts pressing firm against his chest.

“Sorry for what?” she whispered.

“For…” His voice got caught in his throat when her lips grazed his ear. Her pelvis was pushing down on him and he ran his hands up her thighs in a reflex, digging his fingers into her hips. “For being an ass.”

She sat back on his legs and looked at him. “A big ass,” she smiled. “Big, stupid, distrustful ass.”

“Yeah… all of that.” He averted his eyes, not sure what else to say, and gently rubbed her leg with his thumb. She rinsed out the cloth in the bowl and put it to the side.

“You died.”

“What?” He raised his head. Her shoulders were hanging low and she looked off to the side, staring into the fire.

“In the future,” she sighed. “Varric told me. You died in battle.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling rather blindsided by the sudden shift in mood. “Well, that seems like a good way to go.”

“There is nothing good about it!” Her eyes snapped to his, a hard glint shining within them. “If Dorian hadn’t gotten us back…” She looked away again and mumbled something inaudible to herself. He waited for her to continue, but her mind seemed to have wandered off.

“Hawke?”

“Don’t let me leave again when we’re fighting.”

He straightened himself up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and resting his forehead against her neck. She threw herself against him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his hair. “I promise,” he murmured. “No more fighting.”

“That’s stupid,” she chided him. “We will fight. Just fix it before I go away.”

“All right,” he laughed. “I’ll try.”

“You better,” she muttered and, after a pause, “Also don’t die.”

“I’ll try that too.”

He held her close for a long time, softly tracing up and down her spine with his fingers. When she relaxed in his arms and began to snore softly, he twisted around and lowered her into the bed. She smiled when he covered her with the blanket and stroked her hair away from her face.

For a while he sat next to her and watched her sleep. Peaceful and innocent as she looked now, it was hard to believe she was the same woman that had stood in front of him no more than an hour ago, blazing with fury, the very fabric of the world contorting at her will. She mumbled softly and stirred, her left hand moving closer to him and folding open, exposing the mark.

Cullen stared at it, his eyes transfixed on the strange green glow. He hadn’t seen it up close before as she usually kept it hidden within her gloves. Whether it was granted by Andraste or not, there was no doubt about it that it brimmed with magic. In the silence of the cabin it was like it was calling out to him, and he couldn’t look away. The light dimmed around him, obscuring the room and Hawke from view, leaving nothing but him and the brightly glowing scar on her hand. It pulsed in the darkness, syncing up with the beating of his heart.

The pain came out of nowhere, unlike any he’d had so far from his withdrawal, sharp and sudden like the stab of a dagger. He clutched at his side and gasped for air, his instincts kicking in as he pushed away from the bed and blindly stumbled towards the door. The agony began to fade the moment he stepped outside and breathed in the cold night air, instead lulling into a dull ache over the whole left side of his torso.

He sat on his knees in front of her door, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,” he whispered, hugging his arms tightly to his chest, “I shall embrace the light.” Another stinging ache in his side made him wince. “I shall weather the storm.” The Breach stirred angrily overhead, as if challenging him. “I shall endure.”

Slowly, he got to his feet and began to make his way to the camp, the earth swaying under him like an ocean. Bile rose in his throat, making him gag. When he reached his tent he lurched inside, throwing himself onto the cot. His hands clawed at the sheets and he silently screamed into his pillow.


	25. Calm Before the Storm

“Well, you look like you had fun last night.”

“Shh… inside voice, Cassandra.”

“We are outside, Herald,” the Seeker teased.

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

Her laughter rang sharp in Remy’s ears and the headache flared between her eyes. She squeezed them shut and rubbed her temple, spreading cool relief from her fingers to numb the throbbing of her mind. When she opened them again, Cassandra was smiling rather smugly at her. “What happened to you anyway?” she asked the warrior. “I didn’t see you leave.”

“I was tired,” she smirked. “I told you when you were dancing on the bar with Sera.”

“Ah,” Remy nodded, “that does sound vaguely familiar.”

The Seeker chuckled softly and gestured towards the Chantry. “Shall we?” They walked through the village and to Remy’s relief her headache didn’t get any worse. She twisted her neck from side to side and stretched her arms overhead, slowly waking up her body. “So…” Cassandra tilted her head and looked at her from the corner of her eyes. “Will this be another awkward meeting? Or did you mend things with Cullen?”

Remy furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to recall the evening. “I think so… but honestly it’s a bit of a blur. I’m not pissed at him today, so I guess I must have.”

“Dorian tells me there was an incident with some mercenaries?”

“Ah!” she gasped. “Right! That happened. Yeah, we made up, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Cassandra smiled. “I’m glad.”

Leliana and Josephine were already waiting in the war room when they arrived. “Good morning,” the spymaster smiled knowingly. “How’s the hangover?”

“Lovely, it’s like the party is continuing in my head. You two should join next time, I think Blackwall would be thrilled.” Remy looked around the room. “Where’s Cullen?”

“Not here yet,” replied the ambassador. “My lady, I know you’ve been working hard, but it would have been very bad if we had been hosting noble visitors yesterday. The Herald of Andraste stumbling drunk from the tavern, the commander of our forces getting into a fistfight with some thugs… Please try to be conscientious of these things.”

“Point taken, Josephine,” she nodded. “Next time we’ll make sure to do our stumbling and fist fighting in private.”

The door burst open and Cullen walked in, taking his place at the war table. There were dark circles under his eyes and every muscle in his face seemed to be in spasm. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he grunted. “What did I miss?”

“Just catching up on last night,” Remy answered, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know why I look like shit today, but what happened to you? I don’t remember you drinking.”

“Ah,” he said, grabbing a report from the table and looking at it intently. “No, I did… you just didn’t notice. Shall we start?”

She decided to not press the issue further, but kept a close eye on him for the duration of their meeting. He in turn seemed to make a conscious effort of avoiding her gaze.

A raven had come in the night from their scouts, informing them that the mages had left Redcliffe and were now making their journey to Haven. Since they were traveling on foot, it gave the Inquisition a bit under a fortnight to prepare for their arrival. Leliana sent out orders to some of her agents stationed in the Hinterlands to shadow the mages, ready to assist should any rogue templars attempt to attack, while Cassandra and Remy explained the security measures they had worked out and settled on a work schedule until their arrival, and Cullen presented his shortlist of soldiers to follow a crash course in templar training, announcing that he would be overseeing the process personally. They spent some time discussing the report of what happened at Redcliffe, especially the details pertaining the assassination of Empress Celene.

“The Breach is still our first priority,” Leliana asserted, “but I will see about stationing some agents closer to the Empress. There is no doubt that her death would throw Orlais into complete chaos.”

“See if Sera knows anyone working there,” Remy added, “her friends might be able to make a difference here. We need all the information we can get on this Elder One.”

She nodded in response and with that the meeting came to a close. Cullen was out the door before anyone else and was already at the Chantry entrance when Remy caught up with him. “Hey,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “What’s up with you?”

He recoiled under her touch and stepped back, clutching the hilt of his sword. “Nothing, there’s just a lot of work ahead. I trust you are well?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, frowning at him. “Did something happen last night I don’t remember?”

“I think a lot of things happened last night you don’t remember,” he smiled and she was relieved to see the familiar shine in his eyes. “I’m okay. Really, don’t worry about it.”

He turned and walked away. She watched him go, noticing the hair on the sides of his head was slightly darker where her magic had burned past him. Cassandra appeared next to her and followed her gaze. “Is something wrong?” she inquired. “I thought you made up.”

“Yeah,” Remy mumbled. “So did I.”

 

Soon enough she was so caught up in work, that Cullen nearly vanished from her mind. Working with Dorian, Solas and Vivienne proved to be extremely challenging for a multitude of reasons. They each had such an extensive knowledge of magic from years of training and research, there were times she found it hard to keep up with their rapid discussions. Not to mention they each thought they knew better than the other two, which often led to heated debates which Remy ended up having to mediate.

Whenever they weren’t working on preparations for the village, they went off somewhere quiet to practice powering up the mark, preparing Remy for the channeling of the magic needed to close the Breach. As the day of the mages’ arrival came closer, their sessions became increasingly long.

“Darling, your form is all wrong,” Vivienne chided her. “Stand up straight, don’t slouch.”

They were standing in a clearing in the forest where they’d been practicing for the past few days. The session had been going on for several hours and Remy’s body was protesting under the continued strain. She groaned loudly, throwing her head back in exasperation.

“She is right in this case, Herald,” Solas offered, one eyebrow raised. “The magic needs to reach the Breach, not get stuck in your solar plexus.”

“How about a break?” Dorian interrupted, clapping his hands together. The others nodded in assent and made their way back to the village, discussing amongst themselves. “Get over here,” he said, holding out an arm. She sighed and walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Just tired, I guess.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said, stroking her hair back. “You’re doing fine, despite your shocking lack of a proper education.” He parroted Vivienne’s accent when he said the last words, making her laugh.

“Truthfully, I never thought for a moment I might actually miss something by not being in a Circle. My dad taught us well, but after he died…” She hugged him closer again, resting her head in his neck. He was warm, like always, and she breathed in deeply at his perfumed scent. Though it had been overwhelming at first, now she could hardly imagine being without it. It felt like her experience in Redcliffe had shattered her to pieces, after which she could only try to rebuild herself from scratch. Dorian’s presence throughout had made it that in a matter of weeks he had become almost as much an integral part of her being as Varric.

“You are a bit… raw at times,” he chuckled, “but there’s no doubt you’ve got more talent in your little finger than most mages do in their entire body. Many things I’ve learned over years, you do intuitively. Personally, I find your illiteracy very endearing.”

“Well, aren’t you gracious.”

“That’s why you love me so.”

She raised her head again. His eyes were sparkling mischievously, his mustache twitching with his smirk. “I do love you so,” she smiled, “you ridiculous, pompous ass.”

He laughed out loud and they began to walk back to the village, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. They passed through the training grounds and she looked over to see Cullen standing among his group of chosen ones, barking orders while taking them through combat drills. He was out of armor, wearing a light shirt that clung to his frame from sweat, practice sword and shield in hand while he weaved between the soldiers, jabbing the weapon at their legs and arms to correct their form. The lines of the muscles in his shoulders shone through the thin fabric and rippled with his movements.

“He makes a pretty picture,” Dorian commented, following her gaze and giving Cullen an approving look.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Doesn’t get boring.”

“Any developments?”

“Nah, been too busy to talk and he’s still avoiding me anyway.” Cullen looked over for a brief second, but immediately turned away when he caught her eye. “… As you can see.”

They turned and entered the village. Varric was sitting in his usual spot, lute in hand, giving directions to Bull who was sitting next to him, rhythmically drumming on an overturned barrel. When he saw them approach, he raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, here come the magic twins,” he smirked. “Ready to let go of each other for a few minutes while we give this a test run?”

“Are you jealous?” she teased, plunking herself down next to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “You know you’ll always be my favorite dwarf.”

“Well, your favorite dwarf would like to see you put those vocal chords to work. Do you still remember how?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “let’s do it.”

Dorian grabbed the fiddle they’d managed to find and Bull started them off, quickly joined in by the other two. Remy looked at the people around her, her oldest friend and the others she’d come to trust so much in the short time she’d known them. With a deep breath she opened her mouth and sang the words they’d written together over the last nights of drinking in the tavern. It wasn’t a great song, nor were their tones very unified as of yet, but right in that moment there was nothing better in the world.


	26. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Remy sat by the fire, slightly away from the party. She felt drained. The effort of closing the Breach, using the mark and channeling the magic of dozens of unfamiliar mages, now made her feel like she had no magic left inside of her.

She watched Sera dance around wildly, beer spilling from the mug she was holding, and smiled as the elf grabbed Varric and dragged him around, all the while slopping the drink over him. Dorian laughed and dried the dwarf off with a wave of his hand. He was sitting in between Cassandra and the Iron Bull, the latter of whom seemed to be pushing Blackwall into another drinking contest. Remy leaned back and looked up at the sky, feeling warm with gratitude.

The sound of the horn cut sharp through the air and her eyes snapped towards the gate. Dozens of lights were coming over the mountain, more emerging by the second. An army, and a large one from the look of it, was moving in their direction fast. Without another thought she grabbed her staff and ran towards the gate.

Cullen was already there, shouting orders to his men. She quickly climbed up to the lookout post. It was a massive force that was approaching rapidly, and a faint, red glow surrounded many of the assailants. She closed her eyes and listened intently. It was unmistakable.

The song of the red lyrium echoed through the mountains. In the Deep Roads it had been one of seduction and hunger. It wanted to be found, to be used. The notes it sang now were different, but they were hard to define. For a moment she saw her mother, stitches across her neck, a madman laughing in the background. A sick happiness, derived from suffering and insanity. It made her stomach turn.

“I can’t enter if you don’t open!” A voice she didn’t know made her eyes snap open. A young man with an enormous hat had come running up to the gate, with a handful of soldiers in pursuit. His daggers slashed through the air as he engaged them and she quickly jumped down from the wall to assist.

“Who are you?” she asked him, once the boy had pulled his knife from the last soldier’s back.

“I am Cole. I have come to warn you. The templars have come to kill you.”

Cullen appeared at her side, a shocked expression on his face. “This is the templars’ response to our talking to the mages? To attack blindly?”

Remy glanced at him. Sadly to her it did not feel so surprising.

“They follow the orders of the Elder One. He wants to kill you. He is very angry you took his mages.” Cole turned around and pointed.

Remy followed his gaze and felt her eyes grow wide. It was not possible. Varric joined her on her other side. “Hawke…” His voice was as constricted as her chest felt. Her body was frozen in place, her eyes fixated on the tall figure in the distance, until Cullen’s voice snapped her out of the paralysis.

“What’s going on?”

She turned to look at him. “That… is Corypheus.”

A short glint pulled across his eyes. “We’ll worry about that later,” he said sharply. “Focus!”

“Right.” She shook her head to clear her mind. “Give me a plan.”

Cullen gave her an approving nod. “If we are to stand a chance we need to control the battle. My men will start loading the trebuchets, turn them towards the mountains. Hit them with all we’ve got and bury that army.”

“Done.”

She signaled to Cassandra, who nodded and ran off to help the villagers, followed by Blackwall, Sera and Solas. Vivienne took up a position among the mages, her commanding voice rising above the racket as she coordinated their defense. Remy turned on her heel and sprinted off to the trebuchet, hearing the familiar strides of her party follow closely behind.

 

The battle was brutal. If not for the emblems on their armor, Remy would not have recognized her opponents as templars. Distorted and disfigured, lyrium growing from their backs and hands, they were closer to monsters than men. Others were less deformed, but their eyes still glowed a sickly red.

She and Dorian fought back to back. The Veil curled and whipped around them as they wordlessly coordinated their attacks, alternating between shielding and offense. Varric had taken up position on the trebuchet and readied it to fire whenever there was an opening in the fight, while Bull seemed to be everywhere, cutting and cleaving through the onslaught of enemies like a wrecking ball. Despite the horrors around them, she couldn’t help but smile to herself at his enthusiasm.

Varric kicked the release and they watched the boulder fly through the air. The avalanche raged through the valley, extinguishing the torches of the approaching soldiers as it washed them away. Bull pumped his fist in the air. _We did it_ , she thought. _We actually did it._

Dorian was the first to see the dragon. Remy watched his smile fade and she followed his gaze. Monstrous and black, its wings enormous and torn at the edges, it quickly came towards them. It opened its mouth to let out a harrowing shriek, fire building in the back of its throat.

“Go, go!” she shouted.

They ran towards the gate where Cullen was waiting for them. As soon as they were through, it slammed shut behind them and she spun round to look at him.

“We have to get everyone to the Chantry. It’s the only building that may hold against that… that beast! At this point… just make them work for it.”

The hint of defeat in his words made anger flare in her chest. “This isn’t over yet.”

He regarded her for a moment. “Try to get everyone inside.” Before she could reply he had turned and was making his way towards the Chantry, shouting instructions to his men as he went.

She gripped her staff tightly and signaled to her friends with a jerk of her head. They made their way through the village, fighting off the templars that had now broken through the wall. To her dismay, she felt the effort of closing the Breach starting to take its toll on her concentration, but defiance raged through her body as she willed herself to continue.

The monster dropped down from the wall in front of her, at least two feet taller than her, lyrium crystals sticking out its back. Its skin had stretched from the stuff growing underneath, pulling its face away from the skull. Lightning crackled from its eyes when it saw her and it raised what once were its hands, now spiky clubs of red crystal. She skillfully blocked its blows with barriers, although the strength of them forced her to retreat backwards, until it raised its arms overhead and brought them down with force.

A fissure opened on impact and rapidly began to tear through the earth towards her. Lyrium shot up from the crevice, the whispers from within growing into shouts as the crystals came closer. She leapt away, but instantly felt she had made a mistake. The spikes missed her by a hair, but the monster had closed the distance between them, and the deformed hand bashed against her side, throwing her against the ruined tavern. Her head slammed hard against the wood and she felt blood trickle down her temple. In a daze she looked up, her enemy closing in on her.

“Hawke!”

Varric’s voice rang in her ears. In an instant he was in front of her, placing himself between her and the templar. She couldn't make out his features, his frame black as the red glow of the monster lit him from the front. It brought a faint smile to her lips - the dwarf had never looked taller. Only a moment later he was joined by the shapes of Bull and Dorian.

He took the first shot, pinning the creature by the foot, and Dorian caused the snow around them to mobilize with a flick of his staff. Bull shouted a battle cry and charged forward. With a smashing of blows the templar lay on the ground, shattered into a thousand frozen pieces.

Remy got to her feet, gratefully leaning on Varric’s shoulder for support, and lifted a hand to her side to heal the crack in her rib. Dorian brushed his fingers over the cut on her head and she felt it knitting shut.

“I’m all right,” she assured them. “Let’s go.”

They made their way to the Chantry and she spun around as her companions ran inside. There were still some stragglers making their way up the hill and a new wave of enemies was approaching rapidly. She held her staff overhead, spinning it in the air. A fierce gale surrounded her, stirring up the snow and ice. With a low, horizontal slash she directed the wind to her targets. The first line of assailants froze in place as they got caught in the wall of ice, while several others ran headfirst into the barricade of icicles that had sprung from the ground, skewering them like pigs. Remy grinned in satisfaction and turned, the doors slamming shut behind her.

 

She searched the hall, and to her relief most people seemed to have made it inside. Cullen came running towards her.

“Are you all right?” He eyed the blood that was now sticky on her face.

“I’m fine. What’s our position?”

He frowned. “It’s not good. Whatever time you won us, that dragon just got back.”

“I saw an Arch Demon in the Fade once. It looked like that.” They looked over to Cole and Cullen shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t care what it looks like. Look,” he said, turning back to her, “the only thing that slowed them down was the avalanche. We could turn the trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “We’re overrun," she said slowly. "To hit the enemy we’d have to bury Haven.” The look he gave her was clear. She hadn’t misunderstood.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Not many get that choice.”

She blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you have another idea?” he said sharply.

“Anything is better than suicide,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “Corypheus is my responsibility, I will not let all these people die tonight for my mistake.” He frowned at her and shook his head. “Cullen, please…” she pleaded. “There must be another way.”

“Yes… that can work.” The soft sound of Cole’s voice made them turn again. “There is a way out,” he said. “Chancellor Roderick wants to show you.”

In between bloody coughs Roderick told them of a path that led into the mountains. Remy breathed nervously as she looked over to Cullen. “Will it work? If we launch the trebuchet, can you get everyone out?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps… if he shows us the way. But what of your escape?”

His eyes burned into hers and her lungs twisted painfully as she watched the realization dawn on his face. He breathed in sharply before turning away. With a few commands and gestures everyone was in motion. The door was wrenched open and a squad of soldiers went out, while all others started to make their way to the back of the Chantry. He turned back to face her.

“My men will load the trebuchet. You’ll have to wait until we’re above the tree line.”

She gave a short nod in acknowledgement, before moving away to find her staff. Suddenly his hand closed around her wrist and he spun her around to face him, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His other hand took hold of the nape of her neck as he leaned in.

The moment his lips touched hers, the memories she had locked away years ago broke free, washing over her like a tidal wave. His arm around her after her mother died, his armor pressing against her while fighting abominations in the streets, his eyes rolling up in exasperation whenever she teased him, her back against the cold stone with his weight pushing down on her, the pain in his eyes when she’d told him to leave… He let go of her as suddenly as he had taken hold, quickly stepping back several paces.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly.

For a moment she stood frozen, her heart pounding in her throat. Then she took two long steps forward, grabbed hold of his cloak and pulled him in. His hands slipped around her, embracing her tightly. Her injured side ached as she got pressed against his cuirass, but she ignored it. She clawed her way from the cloak to his neck and further up, raking her fingers through his thick, blond hair. One of his hands slid up between her shoulder blades and to the back of her head while his other held her so firmly it wouldn’t have surprised her if she left an indent in his armor. There was a desperation in his touch, a longing to heal old wounds and make up for lost time.

The sounds of the soldiers returning to the Chantry made them break the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers, his lips moving in a silent prayer against her face.

“You have to go,” she whispered.

He nodded and they backed away simultaneously. “If we are to stand a chance, if _you_ are to stand a chance… Let that thing hear you.”

“Please,” she scoffed, spreading her arms. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Don’t disappear on me, Hawke.”

She inclined her head and turned around. Dorian, Bull and Varric were already at the door, waiting for her. Varric was holding out her staff and grinned as she took it from him. She looked at her friends and took a deep breath. “You heard the man. Let’s make some noise.”

Bull grunted his approval and Dorian chuckled brightly. They pushed the doors open and went outside.

 

They reached the trebuchet without major incident. The short break in the Chantry had helped recover her strength and the adrenaline was once more rushing through her. Her bruised side made her less agile than she liked to be, but at least the pain had subsided.

Varric aimed the device at the mountain while they kept the enemies off his back. Just as he signaled his success, a loud screech pierced through the sky. Remy involuntarily covered her ears with her hands, searching for the dragon. It was coming at them fast, fire spilling from its jaws.

“Run!”

She went as fast as her legs could carry her and watched Dorian and Bull, who had been further away from the catapult, quickly reach higher ground, while Varric came up behind her. The fire of the dragon cut across the ground, heading straight for where they were going. _He won't make it._ The thought struck her like a lightning bolt. She glanced over her shoulder. Varric was falling behind fast, his shorter legs hindering him in his escape. She slipped to a halt and he ran past, stopping a little further ahead.

“Hawke! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

His expression went from confusion to shock. “No! Hawke, don’t —”

Her spell hit him before he could move, sending him flying through the air like a cannon ball. Remy saw Dorian cast a spell to soften the dwarf’s landing, before the fire cut across and they were obscured from view.

Through the flames the dragon appeared. Monstrously big, it shrieked and loomed over her. She backed up slowly, her staff at the ready. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt him approach. Not losing the dragon from her sight she turned around. Corypheus stood tall, looking exactly the same as he had in his prison. _Alistair was right._

“Corypheus… long time no see. You sure know how to crash a party.”

A sudden, seething pain in her marked hand made her cry out. Her staff fell on the ground as she clutched at her wrist and dropped to her knees.

“I have come for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

Remy blinked furiously to clear her vision. He didn’t seem to recognize her, or deemed her unworthy of acknowledgment. “What is this thing?” she yelled.

Corypheus answered, his words only half reaching her through the haze of pain. Suddenly she was yanked up by her wrist. _I have to get to the trebuchet_ , she thought feverishly. The darkspawn’s breath was rancid in her nostrils as he rambled on about his plans to restore ancient Tevinter.

“Well, you’re clearly insane,” she replied. “How about you let me down and we talk it out over tea?” She was unceremoniously tossed through the air, hitting her back hard against the catapult.

“The anchor is permanent, you have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

She had stopped listening. Behind the magister and his dragon, a single flaming arrow streaked through the sky. With a shot of lightning from her hand, she broke the release on the catapult and the counterweight came down behind her, launching the boulder into the air. She didn’t wait to see the result, but heard the thundering of the avalanche close in behind her as she ran. She leapt from a ledge and fell into darkness.

 

 _I’m alive._ She laughed out loud, but it turned into a groan as her mind caught up with her body. A sharp pain shot up from her leg. She pushed herself up on her elbows and gasped in horror. Her leg was mangled, the bone sticking out of her shin. She breathed sharply through the pain, although she was surprised it wasn’t worse. “I guess being undercooled has its advantages,” she mumbled to herself.

Her armor was drenched from the snow and she started to shudder violently, her teeth hammering hard in her mouth. She looked around. It appeared she had fallen into some sort of cavern. With determination she ripped a strip of cloth from her shirt. One end she bound around her foot, the other around some debris sticking out of the ground. She gritted her teeth and pulled back with a single, sharp tug, screaming as the bone roughly snapped back into place. Her hands grabbed hold of the leg and she breathed deeply, willing herself through the pain. When she let go, the wound was covered in a layer of ice, serving as a cast.

_That'll have to do._

She pushed herself up, gingerly keeping the weight off the injured leg, and grabbed a nearby stick to lean on. With a sigh she began to walk to what she hoped was an exit.


	27. The Champion Returns

Cullen had been pacing at the entrance of the camp for what felt like hours. After he’d sent the signal, they watched as the avalanche buried Haven. The invading army had been swallowed by the snow, while the dragon had flown off, though fortunately not in their direction. Not wanting to take more risks, he had ordered everyone to keep moving. 

After another long walk they had found an area that was shielded from the wind and it was here he had finally allowed them to set up camp. It had taken a long time for everyone to arrive, as they travelled with civilians and children. By now all the survivors were within the confines of the camp, setting up makeshift tents and lighting fires. Cassandra, as well as both of the other advisors, had asked him to come eat something, but he’d refused to leave his post.

His eyes were fixed on the direction they’d come from. Still nothing. He’d given the order to leave behind landmarks so Hawke's party would be able to follow. Had they been covered by the snow? Did she get lost? Or… were they not coming at all? He blinked. Fatigue had been plaguing him for a while now and he furiously rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. Blurry eyed, he blinked against the darkness. At last, a tall figure came up the path, his horns standing out sharply against the snow. Behind him were the shape of a man, the short build of a dwarf… Cullen shook his head in disbelief, but one look at Varric’s face confirmed his fear.

The dwarf’s skin was ashen and he looked like he’d aged ten years. His face was contorted in a mix of anger and agony, and he barely acknowledged Cullen as they walked by. Dorian’s eyes were red and swollen. Cullen felt his stomach twisting itself into a knot when they looked at him and the mage shook his head. He followed them to the campfire where Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine were sitting. Varric walked straight on, disappearing between the tents.

Bull solemnly reported on what had happened, letting his large hand rest on Dorian’s shoulder. Hawke had been separated from them, but she had managed to fire the trebuchet, and they had taken shelter in the Chantry when the avalanche came down. Afterwards they’d tried looking for her, but found nothing. Dorian used his magic to burn through the snow and follow them up the mountain, and Bull had had to carry Varric for the first few miles since the dwarf refused to leave.

Cullen turned and walked away. His body was numb, his mind blank. There were fires to light, tents to construct, head counts to be made. Without much conscious thought he worked his way around the camp, not seeing, not hearing, but somehow still performing his duties. It wasn’t until several hours later and all that could be done for the night was sleep, that he wandered to the edge of the forest. He paused next to a large evergreen, catching sight of Varric to his right. He sat alone at one of the fires, his eyes dead as he stared into the flames.

He turned away and gazed unseeingly into the darkness. He had forced her from his mind, focusing on the tasks at hand. Now her face appeared in front of him. Young and carefree, her raven hair glinting in the lantern light of the dingy tavern, eyes bright with pupils dilated from alcohol. Her laugh echoed in his head. His hand shot up and punched against the tree as tears welled up in his eyes, blurring her image.

“Damn you, Hawke.”

“Language, Commander… What did I do now?”

His head snapped up. Between the trees, in the faint glow of the many campfires, there she stood. Barely, hunched over and covered in snow, clutching a stick for support, but stand she did. Her armor was broken, her clothes torn. There were cuts on her arms, her right leg was strangely bent, and one of her eyes was shut tight from bruising… but she was alive. All he could do was stare at her in disbelief, while a faint smile spread across her lips. Behind him there was a shout, and the call quickly echoed through the camp.

“She's back!”

“The Herald is alive!”

His mind finally recovering from the shock, he started towards her, only to be startled by a string of fire burning past him that instantly cleared a path in the snow. Heavy footsteps came running by over the freshly uncovered dirt. Varric caught her as she fell to her knees and gingerly lowered her to the ground. Dorian came up after him, his staff in hand. He paused next to Cullen, smiling broadly, and they ran the distance together.

Varric was sitting on his knees, holding on to her for dear life and muttering insults in disbelief. She laughed weakly, her eyes closed. Dorian kneeled down next to them and took hold of her hands. There was a faint glow as he muttered an incantation and a violent shudder pulled through her body.

“We need to get her to a tent,” he said. “She’s practically frozen solid.” 

Cullen nodded and unfastened his cloak. “Varric,” he prompted softly, holding out the thick fur. The dwarf grunted in response and transferred her to him. He tentatively wrapped the cloak around her, while Cullen moved his arms under her torso and knees. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got her.”

Varric nodded, quickly rearranged the cloak a bit tighter around her neck, and moved away. While Dorian ran ahead to prepare, Cullen braced himself and lifted her up under the watchful eye of the dwarf. They followed slowly, Cullen staggering slightly under her weight and taking care not to slip on the icy ground.

People had gathered at the edge of camp, looks of awe and disbelief on their faces, but Cullen hardly noticed them. He had his eyes fixed on her, watching for any sign that might indicate a worsening of her condition. Varric moved in front of him, waving the onlookers away and clearing a path for them through the crowd.

She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes fluttered open for a moment. “Cullen…”

He shushed her softly and hoisted her higher up so her face was closer to his. “Shh… Don’t talk.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was raspy, her lips cracked from the cold. Only a sliver of her irises was visible through her lashes, their otherwise vibrant blue a dull grey.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said, pushing his forehead against hers. It was burning hot. “You did it. We’re safe.”

“No.” Her eyebrows pulled down and she began to cough, causing her entire body to shake in his arms. Her lips continued to move, but her voice failed her and he couldn’t understand her anymore.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Don’t worry. We’re okay.”

Her face relaxed as she lost consciousness.


	28. The Song

“What did she do to her leg?”

“Out of the way!”

“Bring more blankets!”

“Let go of me, you clucking hen!”

Remy furrowed her brow. “Shut up,” she muttered. A familiar hand touched her arm.

“All right!” Cullen’s commanding voice carried over the ruckus. “Mother Giselle, let Dorian work. Anyone who is not able to help, leave now!”

She heard several people make their way out of the tent. Soft fingers touched her face, spreading magic under her skin, and her headache faded with the pressure on her temple. She opened her eyes slightly to find Varric sitting to her left and felt him squeeze her arm when he noticed her look. Dorian was next to her head, eyes closed as he worked. At the end of her cot several people were bent over her leg.

“They have to reset the bone,” Varric said. "Best you’re not awake for this, champ.” He pulled the cork off of a small vial and held it to her face. The scent clouded her mind and she quickly fell back into darkness.

 

She woke several times, but almost immediately drifted off again, not sure if the voices she was hearing were real or only in her mind. Every so often someone came in and changed the dressing on her wounds or gently touched her face.

Eventually she woke for real, her mind once again clear and her pain largely gone. She pushed herself up, causing the damp cloth that had been on her forehead to slide to the floor. She was still wearing her torn armor, although it was dry now. The only evidence left of the break in her leg was a fresh scar where the bone had ripped through her skin. 

She swung her legs off the cot and carefully tried to put some weight on them. The injury stung, but it was manageable, so she got up and hobbled outside. Voices carried sharply through the thin air as she pushed the tent flap open. Apparently she had not dreamed them after all and it seemed the Inquisition’s leadership had not given up their shouting match quite yet.

Varric was sitting on a chest not far from her tent. He looked up when she approached, a smirk spreading across his face. “Just when I think I know you, Hawke, you go and rise from the dead. How can you still stand to be among us plebs?”

“Plebs have good beer,” she answered simply, dropping herself onto an overturned barrel. She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s not what people think, is it? That I died and came back?”

Varric shrugged. “They don’t know what to think. Honestly, I can’t blame them.”

She let out a puff of air. “I was lucky, that’s all. And stubborn.” Over at the fire the arguing was still going strong. “They’ve been at it for hours,” she said, jerking her head towards the ruckus. “What’s going on?”

“They are not sure what to do next," he said slowly, following her gaze. "We don’t know where we are, or where Corypheus is for that matter. Plus… you are proving to be a bit of a conundrum.”

“Why?”

“Hawke,” he laughed, “you survived an explosion, fell out of the Fade, returned from the future, stared down an evil ancient magister darkspawn and his dragon, got a mountain on top of you and somehow made it out alive… Is it so hard to understand they want to believe you are Andraste’s Chosen? That you are their savior?”

“Is that what you believe?” she asked, frowning.

He thought a moment. “I don’t know. Crazy shit keeps happening to you, that’s one thing that can’t be denied. But it’s hard to see you as a holy prophet when I’ve cleaned your vomit out of my hair. Several times.”

Remy laughed, but stopped when a sudden hush fell over the camp. She turned her attention back to the campfire. The advisors had stopped arguing and all seemed lost in their own thoughts, their body language showing defeat, their expressions downcast. “This is my fault,” she said quietly. “I set Corypheus free. I’m not anyone’s savior, they would not be in this position if it wasn’t for me.”

“I tracked that carta for you and led you to him, I am as much to blame. That being said, Corypheus’ prison was falling apart. We’re not _just_ covering our own asses in assuming sooner or later he would have gotten out.”

She sighed. “I guess it does no good kicking ourselves now anyway. We need to fix this. I just prefer people didn’t look at me like I’m the answer to all their problems. You’d think they know better from Kirkwall.”

“You made Kirkwall a whole lot better by being there,” he said, smiling. “And I’m with you all the way. Just don’t ever make me fly again.”

“All right,” she chuckled. “I promise.” With a sigh she looked around the camp, the atmosphere pressing heavily on her chest. “Grab that lute over there. I need a distraction.”

He got the instrument that was lying in one of the carts and sat back down. She closed her eyes and sang. It was a hymn her mother had taught her as a child. She didn’t know why she remembered it now, but it seemed appropriate. It was not one they had ever played before, but Varric improvised along with her anyway.

Though she sang softly, more to herself than anyone else, the sound spread through the camp and a stillness settled over it. Remy looked over in surprise as Leliana’s sing-song voice began to accompany hers. People were gathering around, soldiers and civilians, all looking at her and Varric. She had seen those looks before as she stood over the body of the Arishok… they made her uneasy. Her own voice got caught in her throat as Cullen’s joined in, his eyes fixed on her.

Varric put the lute aside and got to his feet, but the song went on without him. He held out his hand and she pulled herself up, leaning on him as they walked over to the fire. She closed her eyes and sang the end of the hymn with the army. For a long time no one spoke, but some of the density had gone from the air. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves.

“No more fighting,” she ordered the advisors. “We need a plan.”

Solas appeared next to her. “I might be able to offer assistance with that,” he said. “A moment please, Herald.”


	29. From the Ashes

Since their arrival at Skyhold, Cullen had been working non-stop, barely taking the time to eat or sleep. Not that he would have slept much anyway. His nightmares had become a constant companion for whenever he closed his eyes. In addition to that, he now couldn’t shake the lingering fear something might go wrong the way it had in Haven. There was an endless list of tasks and he added new points to it constantly, terrified of overlooking something that would cost them eventually.

It was the middle of the night when he made his way to the castle wall and leaned on the battlements to take a moment to breath. Since their escape, there had been no news about Corypheus. It was a good thing for the moment, though the uncertainty made him nervous nonetheless. Their people were still reeling from the shock of their sudden defeat, but today things had started to look up when Hawke officially took the position of Inquisitor. While she’d been popular before her miraculous escape from the avalanche, now she was nothing short of revered. She’d glared at him and the other advisors when they sprung the ceremony on her, but had accepted nonetheless. He’d felt his chest swell with pride as she stood in front of the army, determination written across her face as she lifted the ceremonial sword into the sky.

“Trouble sleeping?”

She came towards him from the shadows, quiet as a cat. She was barefoot, wearing a loose shirt that hung off one shoulder and reached over her hips, with black leggings underneath. Her marked hand was covered in a thin glove. Cullen pushed back from the wall to straighten himself up and smiled. “No more than usual. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was hanging out by myself on my ridiculously big balcony, attached to my ridiculously big room, when I saw you down here,” she smirked, leaning against the parapet next to him. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?”

“It’s been busy,” he replied, lowering himself back on his elbows. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week.”

“I wasn’t asking about Skyhold,” she chuckled, moving closer and looking over the wall into the depths below. Her hair fell over her shoulder and waved gently in the cool night breeze.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you asleep? Isn’t... Dorian with you tonight?”

Ever since she’d come back from Redcliffe they’d shared her cabin, as well as her tent while they made their way through the mountains. It bugged him to no end, despite being fully aware he had little right to. But the mage made her laugh more often than he’d seen her do during the last years in Kirkwall counted together, and she definitely looked more rested since he’d joined them. So whenever Cullen saw them together, he bit back the nasty feelings rising in his chest and recalled Varric’s words about the man, wishing they were true.

A faint line appeared in her forehead. “Ah... No, I’ve been trying not to do that anymore. Poor guy can’t be my security blanket forever,” she said, shifting her weight. “But it’s not easy. Whenever I close my eyes…” She shook her head. “A lot has happened lately.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know what you mean.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “I’m okay.”

“Wow…” she said, her tone as flat as the expression on her face. “Always great catching up with you.”

He laughed out loud and felt some of the pent up tension ease from his chest. “Sorry. I’m good, really. I’ve just been caught up in work.”

“Where’d they put you? Is your room as ludicrously lavish as mine?”

“Not quite.” He pointed towards the watch tower. “I’m over there.”

“Good position. Doesn’t it have a hole in the roof?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We’ll fix it eventually, but I kind of like it. Is that weird?”

“No.” She smiled and looked up at the sky. “I get it.”

He watched her quietly for a while. Her skin was pale in the moonlight and the stars reflected brightly in her eyes, the brilliant blue like the surface of an endless ocean. “How are you?” he asked. “You've been through a lot.”

She exhaled loudly and stretched her leg behind her. “I’m all right. Looking forward to getting back on the road, I can’t really bear being idle at the moment. We’ll head to Crestwood next, hopefully find my Warden contact.” Her attention was drawn to a sudden wail coming from the courtyard below. She frowned as she looked at the makeshift infirmary where one of the healers quickly walked over to the wounded soldier that had cried out. “How are the people?” she asked, turning back to him.

“Better. Morale was low, but it’s improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.” He’d meant it to be encouraging, but her expression turned even darker. “You... Are okay with it, right?” he asked tentatively, suddenly feeling bad about how they’d tricked her into accepting.

“Sure,” she mumbled. “It’s the crown on my collection.”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m okay. It might make me uncomfortable, but I get that the people need something to believe in. I won't take that away from them. Not to mention I am largely to blame for this entire mess and I’ll make up for it somehow. Corypheus is going to regret the day he came after us.” Her words sounded determined, as they had this afternoon, but her face did not reflect them.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“What do you think? It’s a huge responsibility.” She pushed herself up and sat on the stone between two parapets, letting her legs dangle over the edge. “Kirkwall is tiny compared to this,” she continued, looking up at the sky, “and I ran away from that. I spent an entire year avoiding any kind of responsibility.” Her eyes suddenly snapped back at him and she raised an eyebrow. “Did you know I have to judge people?” she asked indignantly.

“That’s sort of in the title, isn’t it?" he chuckled.

She threw her head back and groaned. “There hasn’t been an Inquisitor in ages. Can’t we remove that from the job description?”

“That’s the part you find the hardest?” he asked, leaning his shoulder against the parapet. “You’ve killed I don't know how many people, but sentencing someone is difficult?”

“I kill people who try to kill me,” she said simply. “Or my friends. Granted, that’s a disturbing amount and that probably says something about me, but it’s another matter to sit on a bleeding throne and tell someone their fate.” Her heels rhythmically tapped against the stone and she looked back up at the sky. Her expression softened slowly and after a while she huffed a short laugh.

“What?”

She looked back at him. “Talking with you always helped,” she said. “Still does. I was wondering if things might have been easier in Kirkwall if we’d stayed in touch.”

“Well,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. “I’m here now. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“You were there too.” She closed her other hand over his and gently stroked the leather of his glove. “You were great. In Kirkwall, at Haven... We’d all be dead if not for you.” After a long moment she raised her head. “I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

She reached up to stroke her hair behind her ear. “I think so. For my behavior, back in Haven. I was pissed at being caught in the middle of all the shit again, being called ‘the Herald’... I got angry at you for not trusting my judgement, but that wasn’t fair.” She talked fast and inhaled sharply to catch her breath. “I’ve always had to keep a big part of myself hidden. It’s only now that I can consider being open about that... but I can’t just expect you to suddenly trust me if I never trusted you enough to be honest.”

He blinked, realizing her feverish mumbles as he carried her through the camp hadn’t been what he’d thought they were. The confession came as a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. Hawke admitting she was in the wrong was not something that could often be witnessed. “Thank you,” he replied, feeling a little perplexed. “That’s… nice to hear. You were right to keep things from me though. We both know I’d have picked the templars over you if it would’ve come down to it. At least until Meredith completely lost it.”

“True, but I’m still sorry. I’m used to doing what I want," she smiled apologetically. “It must have been frustrating to suddenly deal with this side of me.”

“You are that, yes,” he smirked. “But you always were. It’s part of your charm.”

Her laugh sent a mischievous twinkle to her eyes. The sound of it was bright against the heavy atmosphere pressing down on the keep. For a moment she looked years younger, unburdened, unspoiled. “Come here,” she said, pulling on his hand. He moved closer to stand in front of her and put his arms around her, hugging her to his chest while she wrapped her own around his waist.

Though he couldn't feel her warmth through his armor, the comfort of holding her again flushed the evening chill from his body. She sighed deeply and he knew she felt it too, the closeness that once was between them reignited. “Maker,” she whispered. “I have missed this.”

“Me too,” he murmured into her hair, breathing in deeply at the sweet smell. More out of habit than conscious thought, he stroked through the black strands. She nuzzled against his neck in response and he felt a slight shiver running through her spine.

If there was ever the time to tell her, this was it. He didn’t find it wholly impossible that she’d be angry about his decision. She was counting on him to be his best after all. Yet if anyone should support him wanting to sever his connection from the templars, wouldn’t it be her? He took a deep breath to steel his nerves, before softly speaking the words against her crown. “I’ve stopped taking lyrium.”

She froze for a moment before she pulled back and stared at him, caught somewhere between confusion and worry. For the longest time she didn’t speak and nerves rose uncomfortably in his throat.

“Oh,” she said slowly, as if she just realized something. “When?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.” He pulled his hands away slightly, resting them on the sides of her legs, and fixed his gaze on his thumb as he traced across the seam of her trousers.

“Cullen, we’ve seen what lyrium withdrawal can do. People suffer, go insane... Sometimes die.” She turned his head to face her and searched his eyes. “Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it.”

She shook her head a fraction. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he sighed, taking her hand from his face and holding it between his own, “there is nothing left for me with the templars. I have given everything I had and in return…” He shook his head as he remembered the overwhelming sense of futility he’d felt in the time after she left the city. “I will not be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer.”

She didn’t say anything in reply. Instead, he watched her eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for something he couldn’t identify.

“I’ve asked Cassandra to... watch me,” he continued, feeling increasingly insecure under her gaze. “If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“Well, I won’t lie,” she sighed. “I’d hate to see that happen. But I respect your decision.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he'd been holding in and felt relief flush over him. Her arms found their way around his neck and he pulled her close again, hugging her even tighter than before. She tenderly stroked the back of his hair, the tips of her fingers tracing down his neck and tingling on his skin. There had been times he’d wondered if he would be able to endure, but knowing she was with him gave him new hope.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, pulling away. “Please let me know if it gets worse.”

“I don’t want to worry you.”

“You can’t stop that, I’m afraid,” she smiled. “But you definitely shouldn’t worry about me being worried.”

“All right then,” he chuckled, taking her hands in his. “But I’ll be okay, I promise.”

For a long moment neither of them spoke and he simply enjoyed being able to be around her again in the familiar comfort they used to share. Despite the late hour the keep was far from quiet. Footsteps and the sounds of chafing armor sounded from guards patrolling other parts of the wall, and voices drifted over from the tavern, mixed with more cries from the infirmary. The rustling of wings approached from the rookery and a flock of ravens flew overhead. She raised her head and followed them as they disappeared beyond the mountains.

“Before I head out again...” she said slowly. “Is there something else we should discuss?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know. Is there?”

“That kiss,” she said tentatively, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. “At Haven. That was... something.”

He’d been wondering if she would bring it up. Now that she did, he felt instantly nervous. “Yeah…” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “It was.”

She reached up to stroke her hair back, despite it already being neatly tucked behind her ear. “What, ehm... Do you think it was exactly?”

“… I don’t know.” He walked away a moment, giving himself time to think, and went to stand next to her, leaning with his back against the battlements. It was a powerful memory, the moment when she had turned away to leave the Chantry. An overwhelming instinct had taken over his senses, screaming at him to hold her close and never let her go. “You stayed behind,” he said slowly. “You could have…” He shook his head. Despite the little contact they’d had during their last years in Kirkwall, at least he’d known she was close by. Even when she’d left, knowing she was somewhere in the world still gave him the slightest of comforts as he plowed on through. The idea that she might be truly gone forever had hurt him more than he’d ever thought possible.

“So…” she said, when he remained quiet. “Heat of the moment, sort of thing?”

He glanced at her. Unlike him, she’d always been oddly comfortable discussing sex or related matters, and she would tease him mercilessly whenever he had blushed or stuttered when the topic came up. But as she looked at him now, there was a hint of apprehension in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose it was.”

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, until she nodded slowly and looked away. He prodded the floor with his toe, still mulling over the intense sensation he’d felt when he held her in his arms, wondering if he was making a mistake.

“I’m so relieved that you’re here.” He looked up. “There are few people I care deeply about, but you are one of them,” she continued softly, still looking out over the courtyard. “Despite our differences and how little we saw of each other in the last years, that never changed.” She looked back at him, and smiled. “I’m glad to have you in my life again.”

“Me too,” he sighed, and he meant it.

They spent a while longer on the wall together, talking about their new base and the people that had gathered around them in a way so comfortable it was as if they had never fallen out. Eventually she got up, announcing they should both try to get some sleep, and kissed him lightly on his cheek before she walked away. He watched her go down the stairs and pause on her way through the courtyard to heal one of the injured soldiers, all the while wondering why he couldn’t shake the sadness tugging at his heart.


	30. Headaches and Heart

Remy sat on the fence surrounding Lord Woolsley's paddock and looked out over Redcliffe. It was remarkable how different the atmosphere in the village was from the last time they were there. With the mages gone and the area largely stabilized, the villagers seemed to have gone back to their usual routines, no longer much concerned with the world outside of their own bubble. It reminded her of life in Lothering and though it had felt suffocating at the time, she now felt a certain longing for the simplicity of it all.

The somewhat disturbing goat was nibbling on the hem of her cloak when the tavern door opened. Dorian stepped outside with his father and the two men exchanged some words before the latter stepped into his carriage and drove off. Dorian watched him go with a conflicted expression on his face before he turned around and came towards her. He hopped onto the fence and sighed, staring blankly into the distance.

“He says we’re alike,” he said after a while. “Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that.” He paused and she felt a sharp ache at the sadness in his eyes. “Now I'm not certain,” he continued. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“Are you all right?”

“No. Not really.” He raised his head to look at her. “Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn’t what I expected, but... It’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

“Nothing I didn’t think before.”

“That is a good thing, yes?”

“Of course,” she smiled, reaching over to take his hand.

He took a deep breath and looked at her fondly, though soon after his eyebrows drew together into a frown. “I didn’t give you the wrong impression, did I?”

“Maker, no. Though I am relieved to know for sure the reason you haven’t made a move all this time isn’t my fading beauty,” she winked.

“You are ravishing and you know it,” he smiled. “If things were different I wouldn’t waste any time.”

“See, that’s why I could never think poorly of you. You’re all that keeps my ego up these days.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I am more than happy to oblige.”

She put her arm around his shoulders and they sat in silence for a while. “We could stay in the tavern tonight,” she offered. “Continue on tomorrow, get drunk now?”

“You read my mind.”

They soon found that being in the Inquisition came with perks, as the tavern keep was more than happy to offer them rooms and drinks on the house after the help they’d offered with the mages. When they later returned with Bull, the man probably regretted that decision, but he stayed true to his word. Within a few hours they were all pleasantly tipsy and after another few they lay sprawled over the table.

”You zhould be happy you don’t have parents, Bull,” Dorian slurred. “Fucking disappointment, all of them.”

“I thought it was the parents that got disappointed in their children, not the other way around,” Bull replied, leaning lazily against the wall with his eyes closed.

“That’s just ‘cause we put them on a pedestal,” Varric murmured. “At least until they do something that makes you realize they’re not just parents, but people.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows and looked at Remy. “How ‘bout yours?” he asked.

She was lying across the table with her arms crossed in front of her. “They weren’t around long enough to disappoint me,” she mumbled against her skin. “That was a one way street.”

“Your mom was proud of you,” Varric assured her.

“She wanted me to get married. Instead I had an affair with a templar and a fling with a traumatized ex-slave. Both of whom hate mages.” She paused for a moment and thought. “D’you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“Yes,” he grunted.

“Slave?” Dorian inquired, looking up from the table.

“Yeah, from your corner. Got lyrium tattoos on him, gives him some kick ass powers.”

“Sounds fascinating,” he murmured.

“And that is why we don’t introduce you to him, Sparkler.”

“Aw... I’ll be good.”

“Maybe. Can’t assure you he would,” Remy yawned. “Major chip on his shoulder. Crazy hot though. Sexy voice.”

Dorian blinked slowly before dropping his head to the table again. “What is it with parents forcing their offspring to get married?” he complained. “Like it’s the only fucking thing in the world. Don’t even care if you want to or if whoever they want you to wants you.” He frowned, seemingly unsure of whether what he’d said made sense.

“I’d totally marry you,” Remy muttered.

“Don't play with my heart, Rem.”

“No,” she breathed, raising herself up from the table. She felt the familiar euphoria that only ever accompanied getting an idea while being drunk. “I’m totally serious. If, like, neither of us is married in... ten years, then we get married, produce some super talented magelings and you can be Archon or whatever your long term plans are.”

“What about sex?” he asked seriously. “I have needs.”

“Tsk,” she said dismissively, waving her hand. “We get lovers. Most married people do anyway, at least we like each other.”

He rested his chin on his palm and grinned at her. “Aren’t you forgetting someone? I thought you and Cullen —”

“What, slept together years ago? Yeah, I’m set for life.”

“You seemed pretty into him again at Haven,” Varric commented, his eyebrow raised skeptically.

“After fighting constantly for the last months. We mutually agreed that it was a lapse in judgement brought on by imminent death.” She wanted to take another drink from her mug, but discovered that it was empty. With an annoyed grunt she tossed it to the side. “So?” she said, leaning across the table. “Don’t keep me hanging. Wanna marry me?”

“I can’t tell if this is the worst idea ever,” Varric murmured, cocking his head to the side, “or brilliant. That’s usually not a good sign.”

“Maybe you need another drink,” Bull chuckled.

Dorian smirked at her. “Tevinter is a pretty cutthroat place. You sure you can handle it?”

“Please,” she scoffed, “I’m the Inquisitor. I’m good at cutthroat shit.”

“All right then.” He pushed away from the table and stumbled over to her side, holding on to the edge for support. She giggled as he dropped in front of her on one knee. “M’lady,” he slurred and paused.

“What?”

“Wait.” He searched around and his eye fell on a large rusty nail sticking out of the wooden bench. With a snap of his fingers it got wrenched out and flew into his hand. As he held it on his outstretched palm it quivered and shook, and twisted itself into a ring. “There.” He turned back towards her and wobbled on his knees. “My lady!” he started again, with extra grandness in his voice. “Would you allow me the honor of in ten years becoming mister Inquisitor?”

She gave him her best girlish squeal. “Maker, yes. A thousand times yes!”

He put the makeshift ring on her finger and plunked himself down on the bench next to her while Varric and Bull applauded. They drew some curious stares from other patrons, causing Dorian to add to the show by wrapping his arms around her and loudly kissing her on the cheek.

“More drinks!” Bull called, and he got up to fetch them. The rest of the night was spent planning their imaginary wedding in which Varric ended up maid of honor and Bull ring bearer, as well as plans to overthrow the Tevinter government through the power of music. By the time they stumbled to their rooms the tavern was deserted and the first light was already peeking through the windows.

 

Remy woke up some time in the afternoon, her head feeling like it had been cleaved open with a pickaxe. When she opened her eyes, she found herself half dressed, lying on a bed in a cozy, medium sized room. She blinked against the light coming through the cracks in the shutters. Dorian was lying across her, his face buried in her chest and his legs sticking out at the side of the bed.

“Oy,” she grunted. “Wake up.”

He groaned and stretched slightly, but clearly decided he didn’t want to get up yet. Instead he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and snuggled against her bosom. She reached up to stroke his hair when she noticed the bent nail around her finger and chuckled. He stirred, disturbed by the shaking that her laughter sent through her torso, and raised his head.

“What’s funny?” he asked, blinking at her with bleary eyes. She held out her hand to him and he laughed softly, after which he groaned and reached up to his temple. “Lovely.”

“I think the tavern might be gone,” Remy murmured, “because we drank it.”

“Well,” he chuckled, his hand glowing as he eased his headache, “we were celebrating.”

She sighed as he reached over to touch her forehead and gentle coolness spread through her skin. "We were attracting some attention, weren't we? Hope Josephine doesn’t find out. I told her I’d keep a lower profile.”

“People as fabulous as us can’t keep a low profile, even if we tried. It’s not our fault.”

“I’ll tell her that.” He pushed himself up and lay down next to her, breathing deeply. She angled her head to snuggle against him, enjoying the familiar comfort of his presence.

“Hey,” he said after a while, “we didn’t really talk about it yesterday. You talked to Cullen?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “It was nice.”

“But nothing is going to happen?”

“No,” she sighed. “He was pretty clear. Honestly, it’s probably a smart decision. There is so much going on at the moment. We’re only just in a good place again, I’d probably just fuck it all up.”

“If you say so,” he murmured. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She wasn’t, though she didn’t understand why. Never had she felt as shy as she had when she asked him about their kiss. As she made her way up the mountain from Haven, injured and alone, her anger at Corypheus and her determination to bring him to justice had only brought her so far. It was the feeling of Cullen’s arms around her, his lips on hers, that carried her through as she struggled through the blizzard until at last she saw him, the shape of his cloak sharp against the campfires that lit him from behind. Hearing him say it was just a thing of the moment had made her chest feel strangely constricted. She shook her head and looked up at Dorian, who was eyeing her with slight concern.

“I will be,” she said, trying her best to make her smile look reassuring. “I got my back-up plan, don’t I?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled. He looked down and frowned as he noticed their state of undress. “By the way... what in the Void did we do yesterday?”

“I think there was dancing,” she mumbled, trying to recall the event.

“Right,” he yawned. “Really knocked your socks off with that, huh?”

“Quite literally.”

 

After the chaos in the Hinterlands, Remy hadn’t expected the situation in Crestwood to surprise her too much. Harding’s report had been extremely brief, only confirming Alistair’s presence and hinting at trouble. The fact that that trouble was undead spilling from the old town, that had been flooded by the mayor during the Blight to contain the spreading illness among the refugees and villagers, still managed to come as a bit of a shock.

She held the letter with his confession in her hand, shivering slightly from the dampness of the caves that had soaked into her armor. Her companions stood around her with solemn expressions as they read his words over her shoulder. They looked at each other and she folded up the note with a sigh, a distinct sadness settling in her chest. In a way she hoped the man would succeed in his escape, just so that she wouldn’t have to judge him when she returned to Skyhold. Knowing her own luck though, she already began to prepare for the moment in the back of her mind.

With the situation in the town resolved, they pressed on to track down Alistair. He pulled his sword on them as they approached, squinting against the darkness in the smuggler’s den.

“Easy, big guy,” she said, holding up her hands. “We come in peace.”

He smiled widely as he recognized her voice and sheathed his blade, stepping closer to give her a one-armed hug. “I hardly recognized you,” he chuckled. “You looked like a tramp the last time I saw you.”

“I was going through a phase,” she nodded. “I’m over it again. Turns out, when you’re around people they expect you to bathe.”

“And you still only do the minimum amount,” Dorian grunted.

She laughed and quickly introduced Alistair to her companions, before turning back to him and asking about the Wardens. The news he had for her was nothing good, though she felt a twinge of hope as he mentioned his theory on Corypheus’ survival. He had been investigating the darkspawn the last time she met him, although then she didn’t have much reason to believe it necessary. If he indeed used a similar way to an arch demon to survive however, it also meant they’d be able to find a way to kill him for good.

They travelled back to Skyhold together and, despite his worries, Alistair proved to be as much fun as she remembered him to be. He got along well with all of her friends and they spent their evenings talking around the campfire, sharing stories and jokes. It was their last night before they would make the final stretch to the keep that she sat up with him a bit longer, watching the stars above them when the others went to find their beds. Bull was poking fun at Dorian’s grooming habits when they walked away. The mage looked at him in annoyance, but let his gaze linger on him just a little bit too long as the Qunari turned and entered his tent.

“Interesting friends you have,” Alistair commented, following her eye.

“I hear you’ve got some experience with that yourself.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We were an odd bunch too. It’ll be nice to see Leliana again.”

“I think you may find her a bit different than you remember,” she said thoughtfully. “She definitely is from how I remembered her to be in Lothering.”

“Funny that, how we almost could have met back then,” he observed.

“Yeah.” She lowered herself down and folded her hands behind her head. “By the way, your Hero of Ferelden… Neria, right? Is she hearing the Calling?”

“No, thank the Maker. I think she is too far away to be influenced by Corypheus.” His gaze was unfocused as he fell silent and stared into the fire. “I hope she is all right.”

“Will you go find her, when this is over?”

“Oh, yes,” he nodded and something sparked to life in his eyes. “I’ve been without her far too long. Though she’d probably tell me to stop being a sap.” He chuckled and proceeded to tell her a story about the Warden from before she left for her current mission. His face lit up as he spoke, his eyes shimmering with pure affection. The way he talked about her was indeed rather mushy, but there was something beautiful about his youthful excitement and openness.

For a moment he reminded her of Cullen, though that was nothing new for this trip. The other day they’d passed a farm where she saw a woman washing out a pot. She’d almost pointed out to Varric how the way it reflected the sun reminded her of Cullen’s chest plate, when she realized how absolutely ludicrous that was. Now it was Alistair’s expression that triggered the association, as Cullen had looked at her in a much similar way when she stood in front of their people and declared war on Corypheus. Panic had flared in her chest as Cassandra led her up the stairs and she saw Leliana waiting with the ceremonial blade, but he had caught her eye from within the crowd and nodded in encouragement, instantly easing her fears.

“Hawke?” She blinked and looked up. Alistair was looking at her with an amused expression and it dawned on her that he had stopped talking quite some time ago. “I know that look,” he smiled. “Who are you thinking of?”

“Oh,” she said, feeling color rush to her face. “No one. I was just wondering...” She frowned, unsure of what she was thinking. She’d never had any trouble telling if a man was interested in her. Cullen especially had always been an open book, but now he confused her to no end. Not only that, her own feelings had been extremely unreliable for some time now as well. What she’d felt when he raised his sword, triumph and pride shining on his face as he rallied the Inquisition behind her, was something she couldn’t recall ever having experienced before. It was a lightheadedness, a flutter… An uncomfortable itch in her chest that made her flush warm and cold at once. Whatever it was, it made her feel extremely uncomfortable. “Tell me,” she said, looking back up at the knight. “You’ve been with Neria for ten years now, right? How did you know she is, like... the one?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he said earnestly. “I don’t think there was a single defining moment. We met under extreme circumstances and fell in love. I thank the Maker she was assertive enough to take the initiative. I never expected it to happen and I’m sure it happened faster than normal because of our unusual situation. She’s an amazing person who’s always had my back and I always tried to have hers, going through rather... extreme lengths to stay together. It just continued to be good after, I never had a reason to doubt my feelings for her.” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s not so clear-cut for you, I’m guessing?”

“No,” she murmured, biting her lip.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She sighed and looked back up at the sky. “I thought I was once, but now I’m not sure. How is it different from loving a friend?”

“In a way it isn’t, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “Neria is my best friend and I think perhaps it is that what makes that we’re still so happy after all this time. But it is different.” He frowned and stared into the fire. “When I look into her eyes…” he continued slowly. “I don’t see my own reflection. I can see the reflection of the man she sees, someone much better than I see myself. And though she accepts me with all my faults, every day I feel inspired to be the person she sees in me.” He chuckled. “It’s clear I’m no poet. That didn’t make much sense, did it?”

“Love doesn’t,” she murmured. “Or so they say.”


	31. Midnight Musings

It was late at night when Cullen made his way through the keep to the war room. Hawke had returned from Crestwood earlier in the day, but he hadn’t come across her yet. He suspected she was in the tavern, which was where she’d spent most of her nights in Haven. When he walked across Josephine’s office however, he was surprised to see the doors to the war room slightly ajar, spilling light out into the corridor. He paused in the doorway and looked inside.

She was sitting at the table, staring at a report with her eyes half closed, her chin resting on her hand and a bored expression on her face. With a groan she flung it away and dropped her head onto the wooden surface. The loudness of the thud told him she probably hit it harder than she'd planned.

“Ouch…” she mumbled. “Maker’s sack, just slap me over the head and kill me.”

“There’s an image.”

Her spine cracked as she snapped her head up from the table, the sound cutting sharply through the chamber. She rubbed the back of her neck and looked at him, her face contorted slightly in pain. “Commander,” she smirked. “Working late, I see. Still having trouble with that thing called a social life?”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t you say?” he retorted, stepping inside. “Why aren’t you in the tavern? It’s up and running properly now, you know.”

“I’m the Inquisitor now,” she sighed. “I have a reputation to uphold. Also I’m avoiding people who want something. Like Vivienne. You know she’s been hounding me from the moment I came back? She believes I don’t dress appropriately for my position.” She closed her eyes and faked a shudder. “Anyway, in here they don’t dare disturb because they think I’m doing something important. What’s your excuse?”

He huffed a short laugh and regarded her for a moment before he moved to the war table, placing the stack of papers he was holding among the ones she had scattered all over the surface. “What are you doing… exactly?” he asked her as he sat down, eyeing the chaos.

“Besides messing up your table, you mean?” she grinned, flicking one of the little soldier tokens in his direction. He smiled, but kept his eyebrows raised in expectation of her answer. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I’m trying to get a grip on all of these reports, they’ve piled up in my absence. I’ve been winging it so far, but now that I’m Inquisitor I should probably know what you’re talking about when you ask my opinion.” She threw him a teasing look.

“How have you been making your decisions until now?” he smirked. “Coin toss?”

“No, there’s three of you,” she chuckled. “Eeny meeny miny moe, of course.”

She got up and walked away from the table, bending her neck from side to side. He watched her from the corner of his eyes while sorting the papers he’d brought in. She was wearing the same shirt as the last time he saw her. It hung loosely around her frame, though her shape was clearly visible within the fabric because of the wall torch lighting her from behind. She sighed heavily as she brought her arms over her head and stretched. He let his eyes drift over the shadows of her torso, lingering on the curve of her breast as she bent to her side. A faint flicker felt familiar in his chest.

“Commander?” He looked up. She’d turned around and was looking at him with an amused expression. “A copper for your thoughts?”

“Ah… nothing. I guess I’m tired.”

To his relief she didn’t inquire further. Instead, she gave him a knowing look and sat back down next to him at the table. With a sigh she grabbed another report and started reading. Her latest excursion had left her with a few cuts and bruises on her face and arms, most already fading. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a short, messy braid, the uneven strands sticking out at different lengths. His eye fell on an iron band around her finger. It was twisted in on itself into a rough spiral and he recognized the flat end of a nail. Her skin was stained orange from the rusty metal.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Hm?” She looked up from the report. He nodded towards the strange ring and she followed his gaze. “Oh, that,” she chuckled. “I got engaged.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I made a drunken pact with Dorian. If neither of us is married in ten years, we’re going to rule Tevinter together. It’ll be glorious.” Her expression was anything but serious and he laughed, though he couldn’t completely ignore the clenching feeling in his lungs. “Anyway,” she sighed, turning her attention back to the paper in her hand, “good chance I’ve died of boredom long before that."

He cleared his throat. “I could go over the reports with you, if you want. I don’t have the same grasp of the Great Game as Josephine, but I am familiar with everything we have here.”

She chuckled at the disdain in his voice as he mentioned Orlais’ favorite pastime. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m sure you have better things to do. Getting some sleep for starters,” she smiled, nudging him with her shoulder.

Despite being as tired as he was, if the choice was going to bed and battle with whatever nightmare decided to show up that night and spending more time with her, it was easily made. “I have sworn myself to serve the Inquisition,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You are the Inquisitor. So… I’m here to serve.”

“Well,” she laughed, “I’d be crazy if I didn’t take advantage of that now, wouldn’t I?” She pushed her chair back and walked over to the corner table where she poured each of them a glass of wine. Handing him one, she sat down again and grabbed the report she’d been agonizing over earlier. “Enlighten me, Commander. Who is this geezer and why should I care?”

 

The candles were burning low by the time the last report was tossed on the ‘dealt with’-pile. They had made notes on each as to how the situation should be handled for their next meeting and Cullen had managed to put the markers back in the correct places on the map, despite her repeated attempts to flick them over. Now she was leaning on the table, her chin resting on her arm, as she charmed a small cavalry token to gallop across the Hinterlands. Cullen leaned back in his chair, one foot resting on the edge of the table, nursing his wine glass in his lap.

The last report had been a plea for help from a noble woman, her tone very reminiscent of someone they’d encountered in Kirkwall. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the incident after Hawke had disagreed with his recounting of the event, though the slight buzz from the wine made it hard to think.

“Lady Evans was the old lady who hadn’t realized her cat had died and she kept him in bed with her,” she insisted. “The smell made the neighbors think she was doing some kind of necromancy ritual. Lady _Ellis_ was the one who was ready to maul you after we returned her son. In retrospect, I think she may have had him abducted herself so she could get her hands on you.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “No wonder I blocked that out. Maker’s breath, she was persistent.”

“And you were a wuss. If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably still be there.”

“Yeah… thanks for that.”

“Meh, self interest, really. I don’t like to share.”

A long silence fell. He thought he saw a hint of color flush to her cheeks while she continued to stare intently at the little horse, which twirled around and followed the direction of her finger to Orlais, but it was gone a moment later.

“Can I ask you something?”

She pulled up an eyebrow and angled her head to look at him. “Of course.”

“You worked with the templars all the time…” he said slowly, rolling his glass between his hands and staring at the liquid swirling around inside it. “If you didn’t agree with what we do... why help us?”

The little horse froze mid-gallop and toppled over as she leaned back in her chair. “Kirkwall was shit, but I don’t disagree with what templars do,” she said, a faint, vertical crease lining her forehead. “The good ones at least. There is nothing wrong with the ideals behind them, but the system they were a part of was a horrible failure.”

“We enforced that system. If you didn’t approve, why not just stay underground?”

“Because I wanted to build a life, Cullen. Forget for the moment how ridiculous it is that I should even have to choose between ‘get locked up’ and ‘pretend I don’t exist’, templars simply look a lot less closely at someone actively helping them than one who is hiding in the shadows,” she said sharply. She sighed and averted her eyes, sucking in her bottom lip. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to get snappy.”

“That’s okay.” He shifted in his seat, processing her words. “I hadn’t thought about like that, I guess. It’s… calculating.”

“Don’t take it personal. It’s just something I had to do,” she shrugged, looking apologetic. “For myself and my family.” She looked back at the table and he followed her gaze to the area where Lothering used to be. “My sister was quite different from me,” she said softly. “Sweet... gentle. She always felt bad about the lengths our family had to go through because we were born with magic. When my dad died, I tried to keep her safe.” She sighed. “Sadly, charm doesn’t work on ogres.”

He wanted to reach over and hug her, but felt too self-conscious, so instead he just awkwardly patted her on the back. “My sister wrote to me,” he said after a while. He immediately wanted to kick himself for not thinking of something else, but she looked up with interest.

“Which one?”

“Mia,” he replied. “She’s the eldest. She reproached me for not letting her know I was alive.”

“I can imagine why,” she chuckled. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, relieved she seemed a bit more cheerful again. “It’s been busy. Not a great excuse, I know.”

“I’m not one to judge.” She sunk lower in her chair, letting her head hang on the backrest. “My remaining family hates my guts.”

“Carver doesn’t hate you,” he said, nudging her. “He’s just... you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” She turned her head to look at him. “Just so you know,” she said softly, “I may have started out with ulterior motives, but I kept working with you because I enjoyed it.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. You made going against my principles a lot of fun.”

“That makes me sound rather nefarious,” he chuckled.

“Oh, you are,” she smirked, leaning into him. “People don’t see it ‘cause they’re fooled by the eyes and the hair. You’re too damn pretty for anyone’s good.”

He returned her smile. “You make quite an impression yourself.”

“Well, I would hope so,” she grinned. She dropped her head to his shoulder, turning her body away slightly to lean against him. “Ah,” she said, rubbing the back of her head against his cloak. “Now I know what this is for.”

“Of course, what did you think?”

“See? Using your fluffy shoulders to entice women in laying their weary heads against you. You’re bad to the bone.”

They laughed together and he rested his cheek against her crown. The shadows in the room slowly grew longer with the shortening of the candles as they sat in silence, while he savored her company. Like Ferelden, he’d left Kirkwall with few friends and little good memories. As turbulent as his time with Hawke had been, she was also one of the precious few who had been there for him over the years… if not the only one.

“You half scared me to death when you didn’t return from Haven,” he said quietly.

“Only half? I’ll have to make it more dramatic next time.”

He huffed a short laugh. “How about you start keeping your promise instead? No more disappearances.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she chuckled softly. “I always come back.”

She raised her head slightly to look at him, her face resting in a warm smile. For a moment he imagined running his hand along her jaw and tracing his thumb across her bottom lip.

He’d run through their conversation on the wall a hundred times while she’d been away, thinking of different endings, wondering if he had misinterpreted the situation. In the end he had concluded that it didn’t matter. For the Inquisition to succeed they needed to form a united front. With how much they’d fought over the last months, the last thing either of them needed was to complicate matters further. Not to mention he was in no condition to be with her. Though they didn’t interfere with his duties as of yet, he couldn’t deny that the dreams were getting worse. The responsibilities resting on her shoulders were numerous enough without her being his crutch while he tried to get a handle on his withdrawal. And yet... he could not keep the thoughts of her at bay. In a way she was worse than lyrium. Nothing had ever given him as much trouble to stay in control as she did.

Her eyes searched his and he cleared his throat, trying to think of something that would avert the anticipation that was building in the air. “You, ehm...” he said and swallowed. “You shouldn’t let Josephine or Vivienne keep you from enjoying yourself.”

“Really?” she said softly.

“Yeah. Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.”

“Good advice, Commander. You should take it to heart yourself.”

He could never tire of looking in her eyes, so vibrant and full of life they were. His mind was foggy and he felt himself leaning in, any promises he’d made himself rapidly ebbing away, when a strange scraping noise from the great hall made her look up, and the moment vanished.

For a while it was quiet and she sat still like a statue, listening intently for the sound to return, which it did a moment later. She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow before getting up to find the source. By the time he’d extinguished the remaining candles she was already out the door and he found her standing at the door leading into the great hall. Her eyes glinted in the dark as she looked back at him and she silently motioned for him to come over.

The sound was caused by two figures, entangled and barely distinguishable from one another in the dark, pushing against one of the tables and causing its legs to scratch over the stone floor. Outside, the clouds parted and light shone through the stained glass windows, illuminating the couple for a brief moment. Bull’s horns cast long shadows against the wall. He was towering over Dorian, who was seated on the table’s surface and the two were making out in a passionate frenzy. The light vanished and they were once again engulfed in darkness.

“That ass,” she whispered and he could hear she was trying hard to keep from laughing. “Engaged for two weeks and he’s already cheating on me.”

“That wasn’t part of your arrangement?” he asked, ignoring the sweet sense of relief rushing through him for the moment.

“Well, yeah, it was. Still… hurts my pride, man.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve someone who at least waits until after the wedding before he starts sleeping around.”

“Aw… thank you.”

From what they could see, Bull lifted the mage off the table and they pushed through a door towards their quarters. When the door fell shut behind them she snickered a quiet laugh. “Oh, this’ll be fun tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to allow him some privacy?” Cullen asked, smiling.

“Tsk, I'll eat Bianca if Bull can keep this to himself until lunch. After he cracks, it’s fair game.” She stepped back and leaned against the wall, still chuckling, though she went quiet shortly after. He’d placed his hand on the wall when he looked around her into the hall and now it was lying next to her head. They were only inches apart and though her features were largely obscured by the dark, he saw her eyes glimmer as they looked at him. Once again the electricity was in the air, and he found himself wondering how often he was going to end up in this type of situation with her. “I should probably go to sleep,” she said softly. “Thank you… for helping me with those reports.”

He swallowed to clear his throat. “You’re welcome.”

She stepped out into the main hall, pushing the door wide open. The moon had once more come out of hiding and soft light spilled into the corridor. “Good night, Commander,” she said, turning back towards him.

“Good night… Inquisitor.”

She smiled and disappeared behind the door. Her footsteps sounded hollow in the empty hall as she walked towards her quarters and the thud of the door falling shut echoed against the walls. He leaned back against the stone and breathed deeply for a few minutes, before heading outside. Instead of going to his tower, he walked along the wall, dragging out the time before he really had to go find his bed. He turned a corner when his attention was drawn to something overhead. 

A blue light shone from inside her chambers, illuminating her shape within. He leaned against the parapets, watching her shadow move around in the glow. The winds around the keep picked up in speed, streaking past his face and making the hairs of his cloak flutter against his face. He was chilled to the bone by the time the light went out and she vanished from view, but for the warmth in his chest.


	32. A Prayer For You

Though she still found the sheer size of her room ridiculous, Remy had managed to make it feel a bit more homely. Her affects had arrived from Kirkwall and after spending the last year with nothing more than the clothes on her back it was a welcome luxury to have all her things with her again. She was lying on the bed, her legs propped up against the wall, and was reading the reports that had piled up while they’d been away on their last excursion. Dorian lay at the foot of the bed, spitting through the books Leliana had acquired from the archives in Minrathous and Varric sat at her desk, reading letters with his feet on the tabletop.

“Fenris asks if you need help,” the dwarf said suddenly.

She looked up. Though she saw him upside down she could see he shared her concern.

“Who’s Fenris?” Dorian inquired, not looking up from the page he was reading.

“Friend of ours,” Varric replied. “I’ll handle it, if you want.”

“Thanks. Give him my best when you write back.”

A knock sounded on the door and she called out to whomever it was to enter. “Fishwife,” Dorian muttered, shielding his ear. “Wait! Is he the slave you had the fling with?”

“He’s not a slave.”

Cullen came up the steps, more reports in his hand. He stood still at the top of the stairs and raised his eyebrows at the others in the room. “I’m sorry to disturb. I thought you’d be alone.”

“My, my, Commander,” Dorian teased, “what were you planning, I wonder?”

The two men had gotten closer since Dorian discovered a chess set somewhere in the depths of the keep and forced Cullen to sit down regularly for a game. Nowadays he usually had an answer ready for the mage’s quips, but he remained silent, a sign he had something on his mind. She twisted around and kicked Dorian in the side. “Shut up,” she smirked, “and give us a minute.”

“I do hope you need more than a minute,” he grinned, but he got up and walked out the room with Varric.

“Do you want something from the mess hall?” the latter asked when he reached the landing.

“Yeah, thanks. Something chocolate.”

He winked and disappeared down the stairs.

“What’s up?” she asked, turning to Cullen when the door clicked shut below. “You look serious.”

He walked across the room, deposited the reports on her desk and moved to stand at the balcony where he looked out over the mountains. “I’ve found where the red templars come from,” he began, his voice sounding far away. “Therinfal Redoubt. The knights were fed red lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete.” As he spoke his tone became increasingly harsh and she saw his expression darken with every word.

Remy swallowed. With all that had happened since Haven, Samson and the templars hadn’t been the first thing on her mind. “I’m sorry, Cullen,” she sighed, feeling incredibly stupid that she only now realized how the fate of his old colleagues must have worried him while she had been away on missions. “If I’d gone to meet them —”

“You could be dead.” He turned around to face her. “We have no idea what you might have walked into if you went there.” With a sigh he turned back to the balcony. “Either way, there is no point in questioning the decision now.”

She got up from the bed and walked over to stand next to him. “Do you know what happened to Samson? He left Kirkwall, right?”

“Yes, he was with the Kirkwall Order for a while after I reinstated him, though he could never handle his lyrium. He left took Maddox and disappeared after the explosion. I later heard he secured another position within the Order…”

“Where at some point he began working for Corypheus and gave them red lyrium,” she sighed. He nodded, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yes. We find his lyrium supply and cut him off. I’ve tracked trade routes in the Emerald Graves that might point us to the source.”

“All right,” she replied, looking out over the mountains. “We’ll head out in the morning.”

He turned to look at her. “You don’t have to change your plans.”

“This is important, Cullen. Also I’ll gladly take anything to put off going to the desert a while longer.”

“Well,” he said, a small smile forming around his mouth, “you’re welcome then.”

Footsteps came up the steps and they turned around. Dorian and Varric halted at the top of the stairs. “Too soon?” the mage inquired.

“No,” Cullen answered and he turned away. “We were just finished.”

Varric tossed him a cupcake in passing. “Eat up, Curly. With love from Sera.” He walked across the room and unloaded the rest of his haul onto the desk. Dorian jumped back onto the bed and pulled his book towards him, while Remy rummaged through the cakes and pastries they’d brought and picked out the biggest chocolate chip muffin.

“Hawke.” Cullen was standing at the landing, one foot already on the first step of the stairs. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

He inclined his head to her and disappeared from view. She continued to stare at the empty stairwell, the taste of the bite of muffin in her mouth completely escaping her notice.

“It’s not professional to lust after your subordinates, you know,” Dorian chuckled. He was looking at her from the corner of his eyes, not at all focused on the book in front of him.

“He’s not my subordinate,” she replied angrily.

“Ah, but you were lusting?” His smirk was far too triumphant for her liking.

“Shut up,” she muttered, taking another large bite from her muffin. Whatever was going on with her, it put her in no mood to be made fun of. “Go get ready, we leave tomorrow.”

“What?” he said, pushing himself up. “We only just got back.”

“And now we're going again.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so.”

He grumbled something to himself about double standards, but collected his books and left the room. Preparations for a trip took him a lot more time than the rest of them.

“Why _are_ we leaving again so soon?” Varric asked, after Dorian had left the room. “I thought we were waiting for confirmation on the Western Approach.”

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, looking out over the balcony. “Our scouts have barely gotten a foothold in the desert so far and there’s no sign of the Wardens as of yet. In the meantime, there’s something I need to do.”

“Something for Curly?”

“For the Inquisition. It’s important we deal with the threat the red templars pose.”

“But we wouldn’t be putting such a rush on it if it wasn’t a personal issue to him... Would we?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I feel sort of responsible for leaving the templars to their fate.”

“Andraste’s ass, they are knights and old and wise enough to make their own incredibly stupid decisions. Just because you didn’t show up to save them from themselves doesn’t make you in any way culpable,” he said sharply. “There’s enough other shit for us to feel guilty over, let’s not make it any worse than necessary, all right?”

“All right,” she said, breathing out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Don’t get stupid, Hawke.”

“Am I?”

“People in love often do,” he smirked.

“What?”

His eyebrows shot up and he came to stand next to her, leaning with his shoulder against the door frame and crossing one leg over the other, smirking skeptically.

“What?” she said again, when he didn’t speak. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” she scoffed. “I mean... I don’t think so.” He continued to stare at her with that same smug expression and she huffed indignantly. “Why do you care?” she continued. “You never liked him.”

“That is not true,” he said calmly. “He’s a good guy, despite being a giant tool when we first met him. I thought you were an idiot for putting yourself at risk like that, but if you liked him that was okay with me. Are you telling me you took that risk and continued to take that risk for someone you’re not in love with?”

She averted her eyes. “Not originally. I… I liked him, but I guess it was partly that I got a kick out of it.”

“Well, I know you’re a bit of an adrenaline addict,” he chuckled softly, “but that can’t have been enough to keep it going for so long.”

“No,” she murmured, prodding the floor with her toe. “Later on it was more than that… But it ended years ago. Now... I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” she sighed. “I mean... it’s Cullen. I’ve known him almost as long as you, of course I care about him. And I’m not blind, so obviously I find him attractive. But is that love?”

“If he was ever just a friend and you were just attracted to him because he’s got nice cheekbones, then I would say no,” Varric smiled. “But that’s not the case, is it?”

“There really isn’t any point in asking me. I honestly don’t have a clue.”

“No,” he laughed. “I can see that.” His expression was almost pitying as he looked at her and she felt her face flush. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He’s got other things on his mind,” she said softly. “The last thing he needs is someone so messed up she can’t tell what she's feeling.”

Varric raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “So take your time. We’ll go do that thing you want to do, maybe make him a bit less serious all the damn time, and you can find out what’s going on with you.” He moved away to collect the papers from the desk and tossed her another pastry. “I’ll go finish this downstairs,” he said, walking towards the stairs. “See you in the morning. And Hawke…” He turned around when he reached the landing. “Don’t overthink it.”

The door clicked shut below. She walked over to the bed and let herself fall back onto the mattress, groaning loudly. Varric was right that whatever it was that Cullen stirred up inside of her, it influenced her decisions. It wasn’t anything new either, though she hadn’t given it much thought before. Sure, she’d worked with the templars to avoid detection, but once her position was secure enough she could hardly use that as an excuse. If not for Cullen, would she even have stood with the templars when Meredith called the annulment of the Circle? She told herself that she would have stuck with Carver either way... but she wasn’t at all convinced it was the truth. It was a rather frightening thought.

For a while she lay in silence, breathing deeply, before she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “Maker,” she said tentatively to the empty room, not at all sure where she was going to go with it. “We, ehm... Haven’t talked in a while, I guess.” She cast a quick glance to the entrance to check if no one was about to come in. All seemed quiet, so she returned her gaze to the ceiling, staring hard at the stone.

“I don’t know if what I’m doing now is what you want,” she continued, “or if Andraste chose me for it, but I hope you approve. I know we pissed you off a long time ago. Void, I’ve probably done plenty myself that you wouldn’t agree with.” She chuckled to herself, but quickly shook her head, trying to focus. “Anyway, I hope you don’t hold it against me now, ‘cause I kinda have a favor to ask of you. I, eh... know this guy. You probably know him, actually, since he’s spent over half his life in your service. Frankly, I think he’s gotten shockingly little in return.” She quickly closed her mouth. Even she - someone who didn’t pray or ever visited the Chantry - could tell it probably wasn’t smart to pick a fight with a deity when you were trying to get something from him. “So... you know, if you could, maybe help me figure this out? Do you do signs or something?”

She paused and let her eyes flit around the room, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did and she sighed, feeling even more stupid and annoyed. She closed her eyes and Cullen’s face surfaced in her mind from the dark. Young, but with a soul already scarred more than most ever would be in a lifetime. Yet when he had looked at her from across the Hanged Man when she sang, his expression had been so open -  innocent almost - that it had confirmed her impression of him. His first had been appalling, angrily telling her to get lost because he was conducting templar business in that righteous, pious way only a templar could. His stuttering as he mentioned the Blooming Rose had largely redeemed that, though he managed to almost screw it up later with his remarks on mages. Yet there had been something in his eyes that made her believe there was more to him than that. And he had not disappointed.

She opened her eyes again and sighed. “Please,” she whispered against the ceiling, wishing with every fibre of her being that she was being heard. “Wherever you are, please watch over him. While I’ll do what I can from down here.”


	33. On My Mind

Cullen was used to hearing the noises of the training ring carry into his office. In fact, it was when the dull clattering of practice swords ceased that it gave him cause for alarm. Today the noises were not absent per se, but for the last hour instead of the regular rhythm of blows and parries, he’d been hearing a strange collection of groans, laughter, and loud thumping noises.

Covering his ears with his hands, he tried to focus on the report in front of him. Since Haven, Hawke and Cassandra had decided that the Seeker would take some members of their inner circle out for missions that did not involve closing rifts, while Hawke was busy with her party in other areas. It was undoubtedly efficient, though it also doubled the amount of reports coming back to him. Cassandra’s handwriting was hard enough to decipher on a normal day, but now the lingering headache that blurred his eyesight made it close to impossible. He silently cursed whoever was outside for the additional disruption and abruptly pushed away from his desk to make his way to the battlements, ready to give the trainees an earful.

The sun was bright in his eyes when he stepped outside, making his head throb ever more sharply. He blinked fast to clear his vision, scouring the courtyard below. Several groups of soldiers stood and sat around, clearly not focused on their own training, but rather on what was happening in the central ring, which had been oddly rearranged. A number of dummies stood in a combat formation and a collection of broken barrels and crates lay stacked into a several meters high pile behind them.

The Iron Bull was standing in the middle of the scene, arms folded over his chest. He was listening intently to Hawke, who seemed to be explaining something, wildly gesturing with her hands. She had stripped off her armor and stood barefoot, only wearing a sleeveless top and skin tight trousers, their usual black closer to brown from the dust and dirt covering them. Somehow the state she was in made her eyes all the more striking as she looked at Bull, bashful determination written across her face. Several other members of their circle were sitting on or leaning against the fence, watching them with interest.

As Cullen walked down the stairs, she clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s do it!” Bull grunted enthusiastically and took an offensive stance facing the dummies, his axe at the ready. She stood by his side and took her own battle position.

“It’s not going to work, Hawke,” Varric called from the sidelines.

“Tch, dwarfs,” she scoffed. “You don’t know how to dream.”

“Double or nothing?” Dorian asked.

“You’re on,” Varric replied.

“Okay! One, two, three,” she called as she whipped her staff to the count, shooting bolts of ice at the dummies while Bull charged forward. “Four, five, six.” In three long strides she closed the distance between them. He had remained on bent knee after whirling his axe low across the field, knocking their wooden enemies off their stands. Her shoulder muscles tensed under her skin as she prepared her next move. She leapt, placing her foot onto his shoulder, and he pushed up, propelling her upwards. Her foot slipped and she flipped forward, landing gracelessly on her back in front of him with a loud thud.

For a moment everything was still and she lay motionless as she stared up at the Bull towering over her. Then she burst out laughing and her companions were quick to join in, the cheerful sound resonating between the castle walls.

“Hey, Curly.”

Cullen leaned on the fence next to Varric. “What is she trying to do, exactly?”

“Bull had the idea to throw Sera, who had the good sense to tell him to shove it, over enemy lines. _Our Inquisitor_ ,” he said with raised voice so she would hear him, “is not as smart as Buttercup.”

“Right,” Cullen sighed, “and what is that?” He pointed at the pile of wood.

“A giant,” Cassandra replied from his other side. To his surprise, the Seeker seemed very engaged in the crazy display.

“… Naturally.”

Hawke had rolled onto her stomach, her body shaking with uncontrollable giggles. Despite the ache in his head, it was hard not to be infected by her cheerfulness. It was a sight he hadn’t seen in quite some time. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her tears leaving clean streaks in the layer of dirt that covered her face. Bull grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Try it with shoes next time, boss, more grip. And more realistic anyway.”

They walked up to the fence and she grabbed her boots. “I think you need to push forward more,” she told Bull, hopping on one leg to pull one on. “If you just go up, you throw me off balance.” He grunted in acknowledgement.

“Why are you doing this?” Cullen asked her.

She looked at him in disbelief. “Because it’ll be awesome… duh.”

Her hair was sticking out of her braid left and right and sweat beads glistened on her forehead and arms. Under the patches of dirt covering her body were the beginnings of several large bruises.

“You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nah, I never seem to get badly hurt within these walls,” she murmured, looking around suspiciously at Skyhold.

“Hush, Commander. She knows what she’s doing,” Dorian added.

“You just want another chance to win your money back,” Varric laughed.

He huffed in mock offense. “I am hurt, Varric, that you think I would let our beloved Inquisitor risk her health for a bet.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re trying again right? I’m in too deep to stop now.”

She grinned. “If I get it, you buy all my drinks tonight.”

Bull walked off to put the dummies back in place. She winked and followed him, and they took their positions. “Ready?” she called.

He gave a roar, excitement glinting in his eyes.

“Okay, go!”

Her staff flashed through the air and Bull charged forward. Slash down, four, five, six. She stepped low, legs tensing to pounce. Her foot found his shoulder and he grabbed it with one hand, giving an extra push in line with her momentum and pelting her up into the sky. When she was above her target, she sharply twisted her torso and a shot of frost streaked down from her staff. The ‘giant’ froze into a large cone of ice, the blast extending outwards and leaving the onlookers covered in a thin layer of snow. She continued to turn and landed on her feet, staff at the ready for her next attack. Bull leapt forward and brought down his axe, shattering the mound of ice and its contents. Dorian lazily pulled up a barrier to shield them from the scrap and icicles that were flying in all directions, a smug look on his face, while Varric slapped a hand to his forehead and let out a low groan.

Both Hawke and Bull were still for a moment. Then she leapt into the air and hollered a victory cheer. He let out a booming laugh and scooped her up by the hips with one arm, throwing her over his shoulder. He ran a victory lap around the ring, Hawke laughing loudly as she pummeled his back with her fists, while the soldiers around them cheered and applauded.

All the noise caused Cullen’s headache to flare up, making his eyes burn painfully in their sockets. He turned and started to climb back up the stairs, one hand trailing the wall for support. Behind him the cheerfulness continued, but it all sounded far away and muffled as the ringing in his ears intensified. Someone seemed to call out to him, but he couldn’t hear the words. He had reached the landing when he felt her hand on his arm.

“I’m talking to you… Hey!”

He blinked, trying to will away the strain on his eyes. Through the haze, he could see her eyebrows were drawn together in an angry frown, but her expression changed quickly to concern when she studied his face.

“Come on.”

She dragged him back to his office by his forearm and pushed him down in his chair. He heard her move around to close all the doors, bolting them shut. In the half-dark his discomfort began to lessen and he sighed deeply. Papers fell to the floor and he felt her hands on his face. She hesitated a moment, then retracted.

“Permission? Nothing mind-altering, just something to help with the pain.”

He opened his eyes. She was sitting on his desk, one leg on either side of his and her hands suspended in front of him. Her face was flushed and she looked both apologetic and slightly annoyed. He nodded.

A sigh of relief left him when she touched him again. A gentle coolness spread from her fingers, calming the throbbing of his mind. As the sensation spread further down his body, it became a warm, soothing feeling, like stepping into a hot bath. He breathed deeply. The smells of his office blended together with those of her sweat and the dirt, tingling sharply in his nose.

“Now what are you thinking of, I wonder?” she asked quietly in response to the smile that had spread across his face, her tone slightly teasing.

“You,” he replied. “After you fought the Arishok. You were pretty gross then too.”

She chuckled softly and her thumbs started tracing slow circles over his temples. He sighed again and failed to prevent a low moan escaping from his chest. Feeling color flush to his face, he opened his eyes and shifted his position a little away from her.

“Better?” she asked, lifting her hands. He nodded quickly, recognizing an all too familiar sensation beginning to stir in his gut. “Good.” One hand rapidly brushed down his jaw and cupped his chin, tugging it sharply as she leaned into him. "Now,” she said, suddenly stern, “how often does this happen?”

He tried to look away, but her grip was firm. Her eyes bore into his, determined to get answers. “It’s been getting harder,” he sighed, “but it only gets like this when I don’t sleep.”

“Dreams?”

“Yeah.”

She released his face and leaned back, her eyes narrow as she considered him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I can handle it. You have enough to trouble yourself with.”

“Cullen, there might be something we can do to help. If there is, it’s worth taking the time.”

He raised his eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes, we. Me, Vivienne, Dorian. Potions, treatments, I don’t know. Solas talked to me in a dream a while ago, he might be able to do the same to you. Perhaps he can help you work through it somehow.”

Heat rushed to his neck. “No! I mean… I don’t think that would work.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but quickly relaxed back. “Ah. Something of a… private nature then?” she asked hesitantly.

“… Sort of.”

She smiled sympathetically. “All right. Just promise me you’ll let me know if there’s something I can do to help.” With a fluid move she moved one leg over him and hopped off the desk. “Either way, I’ll see about getting you something against those headaches and maybe something to knock you out at night, avoid dreaming altogether,” she continued, turning back as she opened the door. “We can always make you share a bed with Bull. From what I hear, you’re too tired to dream after he’s done with you.” She winked and was gone.

He sagged low in his chair and exhaled loudly, leaning with his head on the edge of the backrest. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t ever let anyone see what was in his mind while he slept. As much as he still longed for her, he couldn’t be happier at how good they’d been recently. If she ever knew what was actually in his head, she’d be sure to turn away from him forever. He’d rather go back on lyrium than let that come to pass.


	34. Old Flames

Warm afternoon light streamed in through the large windows of the war room, bathing the chamber in a cheerful glow that matched the atmosphere within. Remy had been gone for a few weeks, cleaning out Emprise du Lion as well as dealing with some situations and rifts further west. She’d kept in touch with the advisors while she was out, but situations had piled up nonetheless and they had a lot to discuss.

The meeting had been going on for a while now, and although they probably could have gone through the reports within an hour or two, none of them seemed particularly concentrated and they kept getting sidetracked discussing other topics or recent gossip. Cullen had done his best to keep them focused on the work at hand, but even he seemed to enjoy the talk, and eventually suggested they had lunch brought into the war room instead.

Remy sat on the back of a chair with her feet resting on the seat. She had just finished her sandwich, when the topic turned to hair. Josephine had been watching Leliana through narrowed eyes for a while before suggesting she do something new with her style. With the spymaster not interested, she turned on her instead.

“You really need to do something else with it. That… messy braid. It’s getting to a really nice length now, you could do so much more with it.” Her eyes went wide with excitement. “We could braid the top and let it go down in a twist —”

“Sure,” she said, “I’ll teach Bull how to do it so he can make me presentable while I’m camping in a bog. I could add some leeches to accessorize.”

“Not while you’re out,” the ambassador sighed. “But here! You are the face of the Inquisition, you have to look the part.”

“So far the Inquisition is doing fine with my messy face and it can very well continue to do so.”

“But —”

“Leave her be,” Cullen interrupted. “She’s perfect.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, inclining his head and pulling the corner of his mouth up in that familiar half-smile of his. They’d kept frequent correspondence during her trips, more than she had with the other two and definitely more than necessary for work purposes. In one letter she couldn’t resist teasing him slightly, flirting in the way she did when she wrote to him in Kirkwall. Her heart had hammered in her chest as she sent the letter and she had constantly switched between feeling worried, embarrassed, and excited while she waited for his reply. A raven arrived not a day later and to her surprise he had responded in a similar way, after which they’d kept up the same tone throughout the rest of her journey.

She couldn’t count how often she’d let her mind wander to him while she was out; the perfect lines of his face and the way he’d surrendered himself to her as she’d helped him ease his headache. Fortunately he’d moved away at some point, since the overwhelming urge to move into his lap and kiss him had gotten close to impossible to resist. In the privacy of her tent she had allowed herself the luxury of dreaming up a different outcome to the situation and seeing him now made her chest feel pleasantly warm.

Josephine looked from her to Cullen and back before settling her gaze on him. “What about our commander?” she asked.

Leliana smiled slyly and walked over to him, a scrutinizing look on her face. “I think he does something with his hair already.”

“It does look very nice today,” the ambassador replied, also stepping in to get a closer look.

Color flushed to his face as he looked from her to the spymaster and back. “I don’t —”

“You mean it just gets that way on its own?” Leliana asked.

“Not… entirely.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiling smugly, and stepped back, while Josephine giggled. Returning his solidarity, Remy did her best not to laugh. “How about we get back to work?” she suggested. The other women nodded in agreement and he smiled at her before turning his attention to the war table. They finished the remainder of the reports in a timely fashion and a short while later the meeting came to a close.

 

She walked out of the keep with him, listening to his updates on their troops and anything else that had happened in Skyhold during her absence. Cole had taken up the habit of appearing in his office and watching him work. It had creeped him out at first, but he was starting to take a liking to the strange boy. At times he would help him with some of the paperwork, which piled up faster than he could work through it.

Remy had waited to share the news that she’d cleared out the red lyrium mine, wishing to tell him in person. He smiled widely when she did and triumph shone in his eyes. “Wonderful,” he said. “Did you find anything on Samson?”

She pulled the letters she’d found and her own report from her pouch and hesitated a moment to give them to him. “We put a stop to it… but it was pretty bad what was going on there. Try to not let it get to you too much.”

He took the papers from her and frowned, before tucking them into his belt. “I’ll read them when I get back to my office. Come see me later, all right?”

“Gladly.”

They were standing in the main entrance to the keep and she leaned against the wall, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the courtyard below them. The keep was truly bustling now as more and more people came to join them. Merchants were showing their wares, mages sat together in groups to practice their craft, master Dennet was busy training one of his horses outside the stables, and the shabby infirmary had grown into a proper clinic that occupied itself with general healthcare rather than managing mortal wounds.

On the other end of the grounds Varric was sitting outside of the tavern, surrounded by the group of kids that sought them out whenever they were in. While they tended to ambush her more than him, his stories provided a great distraction for when she was too busy with other matters to spend time with them. A little away from him, their forces were going through drills in the training grounds under the watchful eye of Captain Rylen, though she imagined Cullen must have put many hours in with them himself as well. She recognized some of the faces that had joined shortly after they’d arrived in Skyhold and they had made great strides, carrying themselves almost like proper warriors, a distinct templar quality to their stance.

“It’s good to have you back,” Cullen said. While she had been occupied with the activity below, he seemed to have been quietly observing her instead.

“Did you miss me?” she teased.

He huffed a short laugh. “Yes… I did.”

She searched his golden eyes. They were striking as ever. Though they didn’t contrast with his hair, something she quite liked about her own coloring, there was a serene beauty to the harmony of his features. “Me too.”

The scar twitched with his smile. She could almost taste the anticipation in the air. He still confused her to no end, but it was hard to believe he wasn’t feeling the same thing she was right now. She stared at him, wondering if she was right, when the sound of clattering hooves drew her attention towards the gate.

A lean horse, jet black and shining from sweat, came galloping into the courtyard with two people siting astride it. It breathed loudly and foam fell from its mouth as it came to a sudden halt. The person in the saddle lowered his hood, revealing dark skin and white hair, his expression as serious as always. She watched in surprise as Fenris searched the area and spotted her. He inclined his head in greeting and swung his leg over the horse’s neck to dismount, before reaching out to help the second rider down.

Remy quickly made her way down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and came to a halt in front of him. The tall elf gave her a small smirk and looked down upon her, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head in disbelief and laughed as she threw her arms around his neck. He replied by lifting her up by her waist for a moment, hugging her back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away and resting her hands on his shoulders.

“I wanted to see how you were. Also…” He stepped aside to reveal the person standing behind him. “Orana needed an escort.”

Orana looked at her with wide eyes, smiling gently. Remy felt her heart soar at the sight of her and she stepped forward to hug her as well. She returned the gesture, but only tentatively, her hands hardly touching her. “Miss… I mean, lady Herald. I am so pleased to see you are well.”

“There is no need to call me that, Orana,” she smiled. “I’m still me. It’s a relief to see you as well, I’ve been hearing some disturbing news coming from Kirkwall.”

“Times are still hard back home, miss. The family you arranged for me to work for has been good, but they decided to move out of the city. It is why I was hoping to perhaps work for you again… here.”

“We met by coincidence,” Fenris explained. “When she said she needed work, I offered to bring her here.”

“I’m glad you did. There are a million ways in which you could help around here, Orana, we’d be lucky to have you. Though you are just as welcome as a guest.”

“I prefer to make myself useful, miss,” she said happily. “Who should I talk to? I’m sure you have things to discuss.”

Remy pointed towards the staircase leading into the kitchens. “Go find miss Dunn, she’s the head of staff. She’ll show you around and get you settled. But I do hope you’ll join us later, we have a lot to catch up on.”

“I’d be happy to, miss. It is good to be with you again.” She bowed her head to them and walked off towards the kitchens, carrying her bag with her lute strapped to it over her shoulder.

They watched her go and she turned her attention back to Fenris. “Thank you for bringing her here. I was worried when I stopped receiving letters.”

“No problem.” He turned to untie the bags from the horse and loosen the saddle. “So, I hear you’re friends with magisters now?” he said, giving her a sideways glance.

“Just the one, and he’s an Altus actually,” she replied, crossing her arms. “But we kill plenty of other Tevinters to make up for it.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” he replied. “Though I did find it worrying when I got Varric’s letter. Are you sure you can trust him?”

“I am,” she said. “He’s a good guy and very important to me. It’d mean a lot if you gave him a chance.” She paused a moment and smiled. “Or at least don’t kill him.”

“I’ll try,” he chuckled and looked around them. “Looks like you’ve been busy. Inquisitor is it now? Champion and Viscountess wasn’t enough for you?”

“Ah, you know me. Always wanting more than I have. I’m not the only one though, you’ll see some familiar faces here.” She searched around for Cullen. Though she had the impression he’d been right behind her when she came down, he was nowhere to be seen. “That’s odd,” she murmured, looking towards the watch tower.

“What is?”

“Ah, never mind. Let’s get you settled. How long are you staying?”

“Not too long, I think,” he replied, while they walked over to the stables. “I didn’t plan to come after I heard from Varric, but then I ran into Orana. I wanted to make sure she got here all right, but there are a few too many mages around for my taste.” He glanced over to a group standing at one of the merchant stands.

“Yeah… didn’t think you’d approve much of that,” she said tentatively. “I’ve been a bit more mage-like since this all started myself as well.”

“Don’t worry about it. I may have my concerns, but if there is anyone I trust to make the decisions that have to be made now, it would be you.” He smiled faintly again.

“Maker, be careful with all the happiness,” she teased. “You might get a cramp.”

He chuckled softly. “I am pleased to see you.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s been too long.”

They brought his horse to master Dennet and she showed him around the keep, stopping by the tavern to find Varric. He was just waving away the last of the children and raised his eyebrow when he saw her approach with the elf. “Hey, Broody,” he greeted, reaching out to shake his hand, and added as he turned towards her, “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me when I write them letters?”

As they walked through the castle, they came across Dorian and Bull. To her relief, the meeting between Fenris and the mage went about as well as it could have. Dorian contained his interest in the lyrium marks, though she did see him glance at them several times, and managed to not remark too much on elves, slaves, or Tevinter. Fenris in turn grunted a greeting and did not kill him on sight.

She and Varric spent the afternoon catching up with him in her room, looking out over the activity in the grounds from the balcony. Fenris had left the city some time after she became viscountess, sticking around for a while to see how she was doing, but soon craving more action. He kept busy hunting down slavers and helping refugees, popping in once in a while to check on them. She didn’t know where he was when she decided to leave the city and had left a note for him in Varric’s care for the next time he would return. Since her departure, his lifestyle had remained largely the same, spending most of his time on the road and staying in the rundown mansion whenever he was in the city. He was more interested in their stories, an interest Varric was only too happy to indulge. He was just recounting their escape from Haven, when she remembered her promise of looking in on Cullen.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, getting up. “Inquisitor thing.”

“Send up more wine,” Varric called after her.

She raised a hand in acknowledgement and made her way down to the kitchens, where she found Orana already at work, making a pie under the watchful eye of miss Dunn. From the older woman’s expression, Remy could tell she was impressed with the new arrival. She stopped for a while to chat with the elf and urged her to take it easy after her journey, but she wouldn’t hear anything of it. “I spent several weeks in the Chantry after the family left and before Fenris found me,” she explained. “The sisters were nice, but I felt so useless. It feels good to be working.”

“All right then,” Remy smiled. “Just don’t overdo it.”

After making small talk with another few of the kitchen staff and asking them to bring more wine to her room, she wrapped some bread rolls and ham in a cloth and continued on to Cullen’s office. It was several hours since they had lunch in the war room and though she had been snacking while talking, she guessed that he had probably skipped dinner to make up for the meeting running long.

She was surprised by the gruffness of his tone when he answered her knock on the door. He was standing at his desk, bent over some documents with his hands resting on the surface. When she moved closer to place down the food, she recognized the papers for the ones she gave him earlier. “Did you read them?” she asked, splitting open a roll and putting ham inside it.

“Yes.” He pushed away from the table, ignoring the sandwich she was holding out to him and walked over to the window. “Samson is making lyrium from people?” he spat. “It’s monstrous.”

“Not in that mine, he isn’t,” she replied, placing the bread back on the table and brushing the crumbs off her hands. “Not anymore.”

“That armor must give him extraordinary power,” he said, staring out into the distance. “I’m not sure we can defeat him.”

She stared at him, trying to work out whether he was just upset about the letters or if he was avoiding her eyes for another reason. “Then we destroy the armor. Without it he’ll be nothing.”

He turned to look at her and a clammy feeling settled in as he met her gaze. All friendliness that had been in his eyes before had vanished completely. “I wouldn’t know how,” he said coldly. “Maybe talk to Dagna, see if she has some ideas.”

“All right…” she said uncertainly. “I will.” He nodded and turned back to his desk, moving the letters to the side and spreading out others in their place. Remy stood still for a moment, not sure whether to leave or not. “Cullen? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You sort of disappeared earlier.”

He raised his head. “I had a lot of work to do. Still do, in fact.” The dismissiveness in his voice was clear and she decided to give up for the moment.

“Okay… I’ll leave you to it then.” She turned around and inhaled deeply as she walked towards the door. Her hand was already on the handle when he spoke.

“Why is Fenris here?”

She turned around. He wasn’t looking at her, but was instead staring at whatever papers he had in front of him. “Remember Orana, my maid?” she asked. “She lost her position and wants to work here. He made sure she arrived safely.”

“Is that all?”

“I don’t know. He says it is, but he might decide to help out. We’d be lucky to have him if he did.”

At this, he snapped his head up, fixing her with his glare. “Would we? What kind of help exactly?”

“His skills in battle?” she said, frowning. “You’ve seen him fight, he’s amazing. What else would I mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He straightened himself up, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Maybe you wanted him here for another _fling_?” He practically sneered the last word at her and she felt a sting in her chest at the coolness of the normally warm eyes.

She swallowed. “You know about that?”

“You’re not exactly discreet,” he snarled. “I heard you talk about it when I came to your chambers a while back.”

“If you had a problem with it, why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because what you did back then is your business. But you’re the Inquisitor now, and what you do and who you associate with reflects on the Inquisition.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Really?” she asked, crossing her arms. “And how might it reflect on the Inquisition if Fenris is here?”

“You’re probably blissfully unaware of it, but there is enough gossip around here about our past together,” he spat. “Do you want to throw in the elf you were sleeping around with too? You’ll be sure to build up a fine reputation like that.”

Anger and hurt rose in her chest in equal amounts. Part of her wanted to explain it to him, but a louder voice screamed at him for how unfair he was being. “We were never together, Cullen,” she said, her voice low from thinly veiled rage. “We met every few weeks and had sex, that does not equal a relationship. Which is why I don’t need to defend my actions from then to you and I definitely do not need to explain myself to you now.”

“Tch,” he scoffed. “Of course, do whatever the Void you please, like always. It’s none of my business.”

“It isn’t,” she replied sharply. “So get over yourself before our next meeting.”

Tears burned in her eyes as she slammed the door shut and walked across the walkway, and she rubbed them away furiously with the back of her hand. She'd regretted her words the moment they left her mouth and now wished that she’d told him what happened and talked it out instead, but her pride had gotten the better of her. She ignored Solas’ concerned look when she stormed through his room as well as the other people looking at her in surprise as she paced through the hall towards her room.

The moment she closed the door behind her, she sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms. She allowed herself a moment before pushing away the sour feeling and getting back up, drying her eyes on her shirt. By the time she reached her room she had fully regained her composure and the puffiness was gone from her face, her well trained mask hiding that anything had been wrong at all.

 

 

Varric left the room late in the night. Fenris got up as well, saying he should find a place to sleep, but she waved the notion away. “Stay here,” she said, pointing to the mattress she had put on the upper level.

Josephine had been so excited about her chambers when she showed them to her after they’d fixed them up, that Remy couldn’t bring herself to be honest to her about them. The first night she’d tried sleeping there, she had found herself lying in the bed, unable to close her eyes. The room was too large and too unfamiliar, with too many spaces covered in shadows that she couldn’t keep track of in the dark. She’d laid motionless for a while before getting up and going out onto the balcony, where she’d caught sight of Cullen standing by himself on the wall. When she’d returned, she had dragged her blankets and pillows up the ladder, curling up within them much like she had done sometimes in Kirkwall. Looking down on the large room from her perch had made her feel more secure and she’d finally managed to get some sleep. The next day she’d been quick to arrange extra bedding as to not have to sleep on the stone floor again.

Fenris followed the direction she pointed in and smiled at the sight of her hideaway. “Did you have trouble sleeping?” he asked, turning back to her. She’d ended up crashing in his house often enough for him to know of her broken sleeping pattern.

“Yeah… It’s better now, but I like to have the option.”

He sat back down across from her in the arch leading to the balcony and poured some more wine into their glasses. It was almost like the nights they’d spent on the upper level of his mansion sitting by the fire, either talking or each of them doing something for themselves in silence. Her other companions had often wondered at their friendship, but she had never understood why it was such a mystery to them. His complete honesty, never making anything more or less of a situation than it was, and the way they could simply be around each other without feeling the need to talk were precious to her. Now they sat together again, looking out over the mountains, and that same simple comfort settled in between them.

“You're different here,” he said after a while.

“I think I’m different in general these days, not just here,” she replied. “With everything that’s happened, it’d probably be weirder if I wasn’t.”

“That is true.” He looked at her, a hint of concern in his eyes. “I would have come with you when you left, you know.”

“I know,” she nodded. “But I had to go alone. I hope you understand.”

“Of course.” For a moment he was silent, watching her intently. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“In a literal sense? Not really, though the things I did find are helping a bit now. Figuratively?” She huffed a laugh. “Not even a little.”

“Running away doesn’t usually solve anything.”

“You would know,” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” he smirked. “So have you stopped running?”

She thought a moment and let her head hang back against the wall. “For the most part,” she said. “Sadly I can’t solve all my issues by punching them in the chest.”

“Cullen is here, correct?”

They'd never talked about her relationship with the knight-captain in detail, but he’d managed to piece together enough. When after three years they had finally discussed their night together, it had been impossible to finish the conversation without him being mentioned in it. “Yep,” she sighed. “He’s here all right.”

“You’re not together?”

“No… nothing like that.”

A sharp line formed between his eyebrows as he frowned at her. Something stirred in his eyes, that same feral energy that he used to regard her with whenever he was upset. “Don’t worry,” she said, reaching forward to touch him lightly on the arm, taking care to avoid the marks. “Honestly, I’m happier here than I’ve been in a long time.”

It took a while for the concern to leave his face. “Your new friends have something to do with that?”

“Very much so,” she smiled. “They’re good people.”

“All right,” he replied, taking her hand and holding it loosely. “I’ll try to get to know them then.”

“Thank you.”

 

He stayed in Skyhold for a few days in which they spent most of their time together. Over time, he warmed to her new companions, even going so far as having a few talks with Dorian. Bull he got along much easier with. One afternoon they went to spar together in the training ring and the Qunari convinced him to show his marks in action. When Remy came down from the keep she found them in a discussion where Bull seemed intent on feeling what it was like to get phased through and Fenris refused to oblige him. Dorian was observing them with interest, though keeping a respectful distance by sitting at one of the tables outside the tavern, and she went to sit next to him, amused by his serious expression.

“Amazing,” he muttered, when Fenris phased towards a dummy and punched through it.

“Thanks for being so great around him,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder.

“No problem.” He thoughtfully stroked his mustache, a deep frown lining his face. “It’s like a fade step, isn’t it?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“I wonder what Solas makes of it.”

“Wait with analyzing him until he’s gone, all right?”

“Of course. I do possess the ability to be subtle, you know?”

“Sorry,” she smiled. “I’m a little protective of him.”

“I’ve noticed, it’s very cute,” he said and winked at her. “It seems to be mutual. The way he looks at you… it’s like a territorial wild dog.”

“Yeah, he can be a little intense. But we’ve gone through some shit together.”

They looked up as Cullen came walking down the stairs and headed towards the ring. She’d only seen glimpses of him since their fight. A few times she’d caught him watching them from a distance, but he’d turned and moved away the moment he’d noticed her watching him. Now he walked straight up to Fenris, who turned and lowered his sword at his approach, and extended out a hand in greeting. The elf took it and they shook hands, exchanging some words she couldn’t hear.

It looked like a relatively easy conversation, though there seemed to be a certain hardness lingering in their expressions. Though they were never close, she’d had the feeling there had always been a mutual respect between the two, based on their shared ideas on magic and an admiration for the other’s combat skills. Now they each seemed to be trying to get a read on the other, their stances slightly tense and their eyes flitting back and forth between the other’s.

“Is he going to hit him, do you think?” Dorian said lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

Cullen stepped back and watched Fenris and Bull for a moment as the two continued their training, before turning around and coming towards them. Dorian demonstrated just how subtle he could be by smirking and getting up to go inside the tavern, while she pushed herself up to sit on the table. Cullen stepped up to join her and they sat in silence for a while, until just when she opened her mouth to speak, he did the same. An awkward laugh followed and he smiled at her.

“Sorry,” he said softly. "Please, you first.”

“Thanks…” She felt herself reach up to stroke her hair back in the way she did whenever she felt insecure. “I’m sorry. For losing my temper… and the things I said.”

“It’s all right, I wasn’t being fair to you.” He looked out over the grounds, his eyes seemingly not focused on anything in particular. “You’re right. We… we were never together, not really. I have no right to judge what you did or who you spent your time with.” His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Fenris is a good person. He’ll look out for you.”

She frowned, not sure she’d understood him correctly. “We’re not… together, you know?”

Surprise was written across his face as his eyes snapped to hers. “You’re not?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Why would you think that?”

Color flushed to his cheeks and he looked away. “When he came here… what you said and him staying in your room. I thought…”

“Cullen.” She placed her hand on his arm and he turned his head towards her, his eyes shifting back and forth as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look at her. “I slept with him once, some time after the night you came to my house and we… you know, stopped. He left, it was awkward for a while, but we got over it. We’re close friends, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to explain —”

“Maybe not, but I want to. I wouldn’t… whatever it was between us, I wouldn’t have done anything with someone else while it was going on.” He closed his hand over hers, the leather of his glove smooth against her skin. “I didn’t mean what I said,” she continued. “You should believe me when I say that what we had... it mattered.”

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why I doubt you.”

Though she couldn’t blame him for his words, they cut her deeply nonetheless. “Well,” she sighed, looking back out over the courtyard, “I’ve given you cause, haven’t I?”

They sat in silence, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand, as they watched the elf and the Qunari still going at it in the training ring. “I, ehm...” Cullen started, before clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean it either. Your reputation. You are not... you know. You’re not like —”

“One of the young ladies working in the Blooming Rose?”

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Something like that.”

“Thanks, mate.”

She couldn’t help but huff a laugh at his extreme discomfort. It was hard to believe the hardened commander, the leader of their army, the man who would take her against a wall or on his desk in the Gallows, also still had this awkward young man inside of him. Then again, with how she’d been feeling lately, who was she to judge?

He returned her smile, relief washing over his face, but it didn’t change the sad feeling that was sinking in as she watched him. Whatever place they might have been in a few days ago, they were no longer there. She returned her gaze to the training ring and noticed him follow her example from the corner of her eye.

“Josephine has gathered the things Dagna needs,” he continued in a matter of fact tone. “Hopefully we’ll see results soon.”

“Good.” She got up and stretched her arms behind her. “I’ll check in with her at the end of the day,” she said, turning back to him. “I’ll let you know if she has anything for us yet.”

“All right.” For a moment it seemed like he might say something else, but decided against it. She inclined her head and walked away to join Fenris and Bull in their training, determined to fight away the sour feeling in her chest.

 

They gathered in the courtyard on the morning Fenris left. “Take care of yourself, Broody,” Varric said, shaking his hand. “Not that you ever listen to anyone, but try to find a hobby. Something fun.”

“I’ll be joining up with some of your troops up north,” he answered. “Hunting down those Venatori will be fun enough.”

Dorian stepped forward, extending his hand to him as well. Remy saw the elf’s green eyes narrow for a second, before he returned the gesture. “As far as magisters go…” he said, frowning, “you’re not the worst.”

“High praise,” she smirked.

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” Dorian smiled and he stepped back towards Bull, who put a hand on his shoulder.

Fenris smoothly mounted his horse and pulled on the reins, turning the mare towards the gate, and Remy walked along beside him until they were outside the walls. He halted and looked down on her, smiling faintly.

“You could stay, you know,” she said.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I am pleased to see you doing well, but this isn’t the place for me.”

“There will always be a place for you where I am, Fenris,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“And you will always have a place with me.” He lightly touched the red band on his arm. “But this is your path to walk, not mine. Just know you can always call upon me, if you need to.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He inclined his head and gave her one more of his rare smiles. The black horse shook its head as he spurred it on and she watched him ride down the bridge, the sound of the hooves clicking rhythmically on the stone surface and echoing slightly in the mountains.

For a moment she let her mind drift over the decisions she’d made and tried to imagine how different her life might have been had she made other choices. A distinct melancholy nestled itself in her chest and she inhaled deeply against the lump forming in her throat, when a hand touched her on the shoulder. Dorian stood behind her with Bull and Varric at his side. She returned their smiles and the mage put his arm around her as they walked back towards the castle together.


	35. Unravelled

Since during the day it was near impossible to find the time, Cullen had gotten into the habit of riding Greyback at night. The physical activity was the perfect way to unwind after a stressful day and the rocky outskirt just outside of Skyhold was excellent for training combat movements. In addition to that, it was quite a beautiful place to be when the sun was setting over the mountains.

He’d only just returned and was putting the stallion back in his stable, when a messenger came up to him. “Commander,” he called, “the Inquisitor has requested your presence.”

Since Fenris left, he hadn’t seen much of her and had felt incredibly awkward the times he had. Though she seemed to have forgiven him, he couldn’t move past the things he’d told her so easily. He had spent the hours after the elf’s arrival brooding in his office, pacing up and down, the words he’d overheard and his memories rampaging through his mind.

He couldn’t believe now that he had once again let his image of her be so influenced by his fears and doubts. The trouble she’d gone through to track down Samson, not to mention all the other things she did, and the moments they’d shared… all that seemed to be forgotten so easily when doubt came knocking on his door, pushed away by other thoughts he’d had about her over the years and never shared.

The dreams that had begun to plague him when she disappeared into the Deep Roads had never truly left. As happy as she made him when they were together, it had not chased away the other feelings for long. How angry her being a mage still made him feel, his annoyance at how she only showed up when it suited her, the ache in his chest whenever she left, and the never knowing for sure if she would return... Now, his dreams tangled more and more often with his reality, memories and fantasies muddling together into one indistinguishable mess. He wished he could blame it all on the lyrium, but knew this wasn’t the whole truth.

“Ser?” The man looked at him with concern.

“Did she say what it regarded?” he asked, quickly continuing to remove Greyback’s tack.

”No, Commander,” he answered, shaking his head. “But she’s been waiting. You’ll find her in her chambers.”

He walked off and Cullen looked up at the balcony above. She wasn’t there, nor could he detect any movement from where he was standing. He gave Greyback a carrot from the supply and swiftly made his way up through the keep.

There was no answer when he knocked on the door. After knocking twice more, he tentatively pushed it open and made his way up the stairs, growing more concerned by the second. His foot accidentally knocked against an empty bottle lying on the floor when he reached the landing, sending it tumbling down the stairs. In the quiet room the noise was deafening as it bounced off the steps and smashed into pieces against the door below.

“Maker,” he breathed. “Sorry.” He looked around, expecting to see her, but the room was empty. It was half-dark, the only illumination coming from the last slivers of sunlight and a candle here and there. Something stirred overhead and he turned to look at the source. A shadow moved from the corner and came down the ladder and a moment later she stepped out from the alcove, her expression indiscernible in the dim light.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your message earlier,” he replied, squinting to get a better view of her in the dark. “I was out exercising Greyback. Is something wrong?”

She came towards him and halted mere inches away. Like usual, she was barefoot and wearing a combination of tights with a shirt that bared her shoulder. “I need you to do something.” The smell of alcohol was distinct on her breath.

“What?” Her hands ran up his arms and behind his neck and he stumbled back in surprise until he was standing against the wall, her body pressed up against him. “Inquisitor —”

She shushed him softly, brushing her lips against his, and he felt her hand caress his cheek. “For one night, I need to not be the Inquisitor,” she whispered, “or the Herald, or anyone that anyone looks to for anything.” Her hands travelled back down again, unsnapping his cloak on the way to his belt, which she tugged at sharply.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, taking a hold of her arms and trying to look her in the eye.

“Obviously,” she smirked, pushing back against his grip and pulling the belt from his waist. “You used to like that.”

“Hawke,” he said sharply, grabbing her hands that were now moving to undo the buckles of his armor. “What’s going on? Tell me what happened.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“What does it matter?” she sighed, moving his hands behind her and stepping in even closer. “Don’t you want me?” she whispered, her mouth ever so slightly touching his ear. She untangled herself from his grasp and ran her hands through his hair. He felt his breath grow shallow, his fingers involuntarily digging into her back and drawing her closer. She kissed his neck, slowly making her way towards his mouth. “You know how good I can make you feel,” she moaned. “Why fight it?”

Her mouth found his and he kissed her back, taking her in his embrace. So often he’d imagined the moment that he’d be with her again, hold her in his arms, feel her lips on his. Every time her arm had brushed against his, when she’d laughed at something he’d said, every second he’d spent alone with her, not to even mention the things he’d imagined in his sleep. Yet now that she was here, offering to do all the things he had so longed for, he couldn’t help but feel there was something completely and utterly wrong.

He seized her wrists and pushed her away. “No,” he said, “not like this.”

“Come on,” she chuckled, immediately advancing on him again. “Surely the man who used to pin me down outside the Gallows is still somewhere in there.” She pushed into him, her breasts pressing against his chest plate and her hips against his own. His gut stirred hotly in response. “Remember,” she breathed, her lips moving against his skin, “how you would make me beg you for more?”

Memories flashed before his eyes. Bending her over, his hand holding her down by her hair. Desire and affection, clouded with anger. Even if she was just one mage, even if she was the one who decided if and when she was with him, for a brief moment he could control her, dominate her, make her writhe helplessly under his touch. Anything to not make him feel so powerless as he had in that cage in Ferelden’s Circle.

He shook his head to clear the visions from his mind. It was like his dreams and for a moment he wondered if perhaps he was indeed asleep. The woman in front of him was not the one he’d been spending time with over the past months and a sudden realization struck him like lightning. It wasn’t her he’d so been yearning for.

“I am no longer that person,” he said, taking her by her shoulders and pushing her back a final time.

Her expression changed slowly; going from amused, to disbelief, to a cold anger. She pushed away sharply and stepped back. “Then leave.”

He watched her turn away and walk towards the balcony. “No.”

She froze. “What?”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, moving towards her. “Tell me what’s going on. This isn’t you.”

 _“This is me!”_ she yelled, spinning around to face him, her face ablaze with fury. “This is all I’ll ever be and I’m done pretending to be something more!”

“You are much more than this,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Look where you are, how far you've come! You’re —”

“Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it!”

“— our leader. Our people trust you, they’d follow you anywhere. I know the path the Maker has shown us isn’t easy —”

“To the Void with the Maker,” she hissed, fire spitting from her eyes. “What has he ever done for anyone? Fuck him and his Andraste! Damn them both to —”

“Remy!”

Something flashed in her eyes as he called out her name and she quickly shut her mouth. A muscle twitched next to her eye and she stared at him with a feral glare that made him wonder if she was going to lunge and rip out his throat next. She did not, but turned away abruptly instead. “Just get out, Cullen. Leave me alone.”

He’d frozen in his tracks when she started yelling and now took another tentative step towards her. “Remy… talk to me.”

The room was engulfed in a sudden flash of light as fire sprung into her hand. “No!” she thundered, twisting around and raising her hand in anticipation. “Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

The flames vaporized before they made contact, dispersed by his dispelling field. Her hand glowed again for another charge, but he closed the distance between them and managed to take a hold of her wrists. The flare in her palm sizzled and died out, though he could feel her magic coiling and swirling inside her body, searching for a way past the cleansing aura. She struggled against his grip and in between blocking her magic and the strength with which she fought him, it cost him all he had to keep her under control.

Her anger disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. As she gave up, her body went limp and she let her head hang low, her shoulders shaking with every shuddering gasp of breath she drew. He let go of her arms and hugged her to his chest, holding her tightly while she sobbed against his neck. Carefully stepping back, he found the bed and sat down, pulling her with him.

Though his veins surged uncomfortably without the lyrium, he didn’t let go of the dispelling force quite yet. He’d refrained from using his abilities when he stopped taking it, but had made them a part of his training again since he’d stopped her attack on the mercenaries at Haven. Though they’d been painful to use at first, he’d willed himself through it, and soon found them getting easier to call upon. To his relief, they didn’t seem much less effective than they used to be.

The sun had long since gone by the time Remy went quiet. Her breath lengthened and Cullen felt the wet patch on his skin slowly dry. He pulled away slightly to look at her and found her fast asleep, her face tear stained, but relaxed. With one arm around her body and using the other to take a hold under her knees, he picked her up and placed her in the bed. He covered her with the blanket and lay down next to her, softly stroking her hair, her arm, and her back, praying she found some peace in her dreams.

After some time he got up and searched the room. Another empty bottle lay in the corner and he fervently hoped she hadn’t emptied both by herself. Other than that, there wasn’t anything to suggest what had happened before he’d come up to see her and he turned his attention to the upper floor. In the corner of the loft she’d arranged a mattress, as well as several pillows and blankets. Her sketchbook lay on the floor next to the nest, a piece of parchment sticking out from between the pages. He pulled it out and unfolded it to find a letter written in a scrawly hand.

Judging from the script and the simple language, the sender was not very highly educated. It was signed Ned Harper and spoke of two women, one named Sophia and another called Alice. The man described a red crystal that had been spreading through Kirkwall, infecting people that were exposed to it for longer periods of time, and had become fatal to Alice. He closed the letter saying he moved away from the city and humbly requested Remy and the Inquisition for their assistance in fighting the threat.

Cullen swallowed and looked down upon the bed. She was still sound asleep and turned to lie on her back, causing the moonlight to illuminate her face. He climbed back down and removed his plating and boots, before lying back down next to her. The bed sagged slightly under his weight and she rolled towards him, nestling herself against his chest. He stayed awake throughout the night, watching over her as she slept and whispering the Chant against the top of her head.

 

The sun was already high in the sky when she woke. She groaned, no doubt feeling the effect of the wine she’d drunk the night before keenly, and raised her head. For a moment she seemed unsure as to why he was there and she blinked a few times, before her eyes went wide with shock. She pushed away quickly, clearly regretting it immediately as she grabbed her head.

“Fuck,” she mumbled.

“Take it easy,” he said quietly, sitting up himself and reaching up to stroke her hair back.

She opened one eye, squinting at the bright light that was streaming in. With a small shake, her hand began to glow a faint blue, and she reached up to her temple, sighing deeply as her fingertips connected with her skin. After a long moment, the light dissipated and she lowered her hand, but didn’t open her eyes yet. “Maker, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I'm sure he’ll forgive you,” Cullen smiled, letting his hand trail down her arm and resting it on top of hers.

“Not him,” she said, opening her eyes sharply, before pausing and looking up, her eyebrow raised. “Though I guess I got something to make up for there too,” she added under her breath. She shook her head and refocused on him. “I mean you. I am so sorry, Cullen. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s all right.”

“No… no, it really isn’t.” Her eyes darted back and forth between his, her face twisted with guilt. As she watched him, more and more details of the evening seemed to be coming back to her and at some point she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Maker… did I use magic?”

He frowned, wondering for a moment if it would be better to not remind her too much of the things she’d done and said. “Only a little.”

“Oh, no,” she muttered, looking away. She covered her face with her hands and began to rock back and forth. “No, no, no…”

“Hey.” He moved closer and put his arms around her, pulling her towards him and quietly shushing her. “It’s not so bad, okay? Nothing happened.”

She looked up. “Only because you are the most honorable man in the history of Thedas.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cullen. You... our friendship means the world to me. I can’t believe I almost ruined it again.”

The word ‘friend’ was as unpalatable as the time she had called him that in her house in Kirkwall. He swallowed and forced himself to smile, took her head between his hands and stroked away her tears with his thumbs. “You could never ruin it,” he said softly, before placing a small kiss on her forehead. “But in the future maybe it’s better if you talk to me, instead of getting drunk by yourself.”

She nodded hastily and hiccuped while she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“It’s okay, stop worrying.” He reached behind him to pick up the letter from the nightstand and handed it to her. “I found this. Red lyrium in Kirkwall? Is that why you were so upset?”

Her hands shook as she folded open the paper and scanned the contents. “You read it?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m sorry. I wanted to know what was going on.”

She waved away his apology and sighed. “It’s from a friend of mine. He’s a fisherman, lost his wife during the rebellion. It’s only him and his daughter now.” She swallowed visibly before continuing. “She had a baby girl several months back. They named her Alice. Alice Remy.”

The pieces Cullen hadn’t been able to put together when he found the note fell into place in an instant. “They named her after you?”

“Yeah… that came as a surprise to me too,” she said quietly, looking in the direction of the balcony. “We weren’t very close, but I checked in on him whenever I was in the area, had tea with them a few times. He never had a problem with my being a mage, always only talked about what good he thought I did for the city.” A shudder ran through her spine and Cullen reached out to her in a reflex. She sighed again and shook her head. “He asks for my help,” she said, her voice barely even a whisper. “He even feels bad for it, doesn’t want to add to my work load. If he knew that all that’s happened is because of me —”

“Stop doing that,” he said sternly, taking her chin and forcing her to look at him. “You did not cause what is currently going on. It would have happened one way or another, with or without your influence.”

She refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing on a point somewhere on the bedspread. “Cullen, don’t you see?” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m a fraud. It’s no wonder you can’t trust a word I say, even to you I only showed the things I wanted you to see. I’m a liar and a hypocrite, and I let people believe I’m a good person by leaving out the parts that don’t work with whatever image I want them to have of me. And worst of all, I’ve been allowing everyone to think I’m chosen by Andraste.”

He thought long, searching her face while he wished he could say something profound that would instantly make her feel better. If such a thing existed, he did not think of it, so instead he straightened himself up and moved closer to her, released her chin and cupped her face in both hands, lifting it up.

“Look at me,” he said softly. With a sigh she opened her eyes. The usually vibrant blue was closer to grey, like an ocean on a stormy day. “You are crass, impulsive, manipulative, aggressive, and bossy.” Her eyes narrowed slightly and he smiled. “You are also the most caring, beautiful, bravest, and good-hearted person I have ever met.”

Something stirred behind the grey, a tiny ray of sun breaking through the heavy clouds. “There is nothing fake about the good in you,” he continued. “Whatever you did, it was with good intentions. Now you are working day and night to fix everyone’s problems and you deserve any and all credit that people want to give you for that.”

She sighed and looked away, clearly not believing his words. “Or,” he smirked, tugging gently on her head, “if you don’t like that, you can rest assured that the people here all know that you’re a bit of a jerk… and that we still love you for it.”

At last she laughed. A brief chuckle at first, but it soon grew into the bright sound he adored so much. He released her face and sighed, relieved he’d managed to cheer her up. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking up at him with a gentle smile. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“True, you really don’t.” She laughed again and he felt the familiar warmth flood his chest, as well as the tiredness from the sleepless night starting to settle in. “We’ll send more troops to Kirkwall to help deal with the lyrium, I was going to suggest as much at the next meeting. Carver wrote to us, he says it’s coming from the Gallows.”

She nodded. “Good. I’ll write him back. Shall we meet today?”

“Sure,” he replied, failing to suppress a yawn.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t you sleep?”

“Not really, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He couldn’t quite place her expression as she looked at him, but a moment later she motioned with her head to the pillows. “Go on, lie down. I’ll close the curtains.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Cullen.” She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him down. “Please. You took care of me, let me return the favor.”

He lay back on the pillows and suddenly noticed just how tired he was. The powders she’d arranged with the other mages helped in easing his nights and he generally managed to get a few hours in each night. They made him groggy however, so he avoided using them when he could. As he lay down now, he could tell he wouldn’t need anything to help him fall asleep, though what he would find when he closed his eyes was a matter to be seen.

She got up and moved around the room, closing the doors to drown out the noises rising up from the courtyard and pulling the drapes shut. A moment later she sat down next to him, resting her back against the headboard, and pulled his head into her lap. He looked up at her and even in the dim light he could see her smile, soft and full of affection.

“Just for a bit, all right?” he said in an attempt to distract himself from the pounding of his heart. “I’ve got meetings planned in the afternoon.”

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, stroking his forehead and temples with firm, yet gentle motions of her fingertips. “I’ll wake you in time. Just rest.”

He reluctantly closed his eyes, wishing he could look at her forever, but soon found the sleep wash over him, aided by the reassuring touch of her hands. She sung a quiet song, singing some lines while humming others, and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	36. The Dark of Night

It had taken some time, but at last Dagna had found a way to destroy Samson’s red lyrium armor and Cullen had managed to track down the man himself. Remy walked down from his office, her stomach feeling like a tight knot, and made her way to the stables to ready her horse. Her friends were already there, lazily sitting in the sun while they waited for their own mounts to be prepared. She walked on to get Tempest from his box and tied him to one of the outside posts to prepare him for the journey.

“You okay, Hawke?” Varric asked. He was sitting on a bale of hay, fiddling with what looked like a new addition to Bianca.

“Of course,” she replied, failing to keep her voice from sounding constricted. She squeezed her eyes shut and immediately felt the eyes of the other two snap to her as well. With a sigh she looked up again and began to roughly brush the mud off of Tempest’s coat. “I, ehm... might still have feelings for Cullen.”

Their responses were hardly surprising. Varric sighed, Bull chuckled, and Dorian clapped his hands on his thighs. “No!” he gasped sarcastically, leaning forward.

“Did you tell him?” Varric asked.

“No,” she said, her voice now unnaturally high. “Not really. I... I sort of forced myself on him and tried to set him on fire.”

The silence was so deafening it almost seemed to drown out the other noise in the grounds. She glanced at her companions. Dorian and Varric were staring at her, slack-jawed and eyebrows raised to the sky. Bull on the other hand had crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded approvingly. “Hot,” he grinned.

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric mumbled, ignoring the Qunari. “You really are emotionally stunted.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“What did he do?” Dorian asked, leaning forward again, but now with an expression of a hungry wolf staring at a lamb.

“Not much really. I was upset and drunk. He calmed me down and was... very chivalrous about the whole thing.”

“So you threw yourself at him,” the mage said slowly, shutting his eyes as he seemingly tried to picture the situation in his mind, “and he turned you down?”

“Why were you upset?” Varric asked, now clearly trying to ignore Dorian.

“Ah, that letter I showed you yesterday. And I had some weirdness before that... Cullen and Fenris.” She shrugged. “You know.” He nodded, his eyebrows knotting together in a worried a frown.

“Never mind that,” Dorian interjected. “So when he didn’t go for it, you tried to set him on fire?”

“Kind of, yes,” she mumbled, turning back to her horse.

A long silence fell as she untangled the knots from the gelding’s mane and she let her mind drift back to her outburst. The actual night was largely a blur, though her behavior towards Cullen was, unfortunately, painfully clear in her memory. In the morning she’d watched him as he slept, stroking his golden hair and mulling over the things he’d said. Whenever she remembered his words or the feeling of his hands on her face, she felt herself flush and get an uncomfortable itch in her chest. She’d woken him around mid-day, after which he got up, briefly leaned in to touch her forehead with his own and left the room to go teach templar training. She’d sat motionless on her bed for a while longer, suddenly very aware of the flutter in her stomach and what it meant.

Confused and still embarrassed by what she’d done, she tried to avoid him for a while, yet somehow it had proven impossible. There were the meetings with the other advisors of course, in the first of which he made every effort to send relief to Kirkwall. Leliana had objected, arguing their effort was better spent on dealing with Corypheus, but he’d stood his ground. Afterwards he’d glanced at her from across the table and smiled, making color rush to her face.

Despite the impression she had that he never left his office, she suddenly kept running into him outside the meetings as well. In the mess hall, crossing the grounds, outside the stables, and seemingly whenever she turned a corner in one of the many corridors running through Skyhold. He would greet her politely and inquire after her well-being, while she fervently hoped he wouldn’t notice her discomfort. Wether he did or not, she didn’t know, but he seemed to be making an extra effort in helping them move past the incident in her chambers.

A few days had passed since it happened and she had been relieved they were heading out again soon so she could get some distance. It was then that she received Cullen’s note, summoning her to his office at her earliest convenience.

“Also he’s coming with us,” she muttered, turning away to fetch her saddle.

“My,” Dorian said behind her. “That should be interesting.”

 

They travelled to Val Royeux by ship and Remy was almost relieved when seasickness took over Dorian as soon as they hit open water, as it gave her a great reason to spend her time with him below deck. In addition to giving her an excuse for avoiding Cullen, it also kept him from asking any more questions about what transpired between them in her chambers, something he had done non-stop from the moment they left Skyhold.

It was hard not to feel sorry for the mage however as she sat next to him, gingerly patting him on the back as he lay in his bunk, shaking violently and on occasion lurching for the bucket that was standing on the floor next to them. He hadn’t eaten since he’d seen his breakfast in reverse on the day they boarded and there was nothing left for him to expel, so his body just heaved and shook as it tried to relieve itself.

She had been that sick herself once, when her parents took her and the twins for a day at the coast. They had rented a small boat and she’d started out fine, but when one wave hit their bow wrong it had all changed. Every splash of water that rocked the little boat had felt like a personal attack on her by the Maker as her stomach squeezed itself inside out and jumped against her throat. Not even her father’s magic had made a difference, so they’d just tried to make their way back as quickly as possible, her body protesting loudly with every sway of the vessel. Fortunately she’d outgrown the seasickness, but she knew very well just how rotten the mage felt.

Their journey lasted a few days, which he spent shivering in her arms, though his usual swagger was restored the moment he hit dry land. He clearly wished to pretend the whole affair never happened and to her relief he also seemed to have given up on teasing her any further. 

When she startled awake the following night, she found her arm stretched out in front of her, her staff at the ready. Judging from the pitch black darkness, it was the middle of the night. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, sighing deeply. They had arrived in Orlais in the late afternoon and carried on a while longer, setting up camp some distance from the capital. It had been late by the time she lay down in her tent and she’d spent a while longer doodling in her sketchbook. At best, she guessed, she’d managed to get an hour of sleep or so.

The dream that she’d had before she woke was a familiar one. The ogre, holding Beth in its giant hand, bashing her against the ground. Over and over, before tossing her aside like a piece of trash. Her mother screaming at her, blaming her for letting her sister charge in. Stitches across her neck, reaching out to her with the hands that were not her own. Unlike the other times she’d had the dream, Leandra had opened her mouth and let out a strange, strangled moan, as well as an odd shuffling noise.

Remy stretched her arms overhead, wondering about the unusual addition to the dream, when she heard the sound again. It came from somewhere outside her tent and was gone before she could identify it. She sat still as a statue, listening intently for it to return, which it did a moment later. A thrashing kind of noise accompanied by a muffled cry. She quickly got up and went out to look for the source.

The camp was quiet and at first glance all seemed perfectly normal, the only sounds being the crackling of the torches and an owl hooting in the distance. She carefully stalked around the campfire site, clutching her staff and listening closely for the noise, until a sudden movement in one of the tents almost made her jump. It was Cullen’s and his muted voice was audible through the canvas. She swallowed and stepped closer, lifting up the flap to the entrance.

The tip off her staff lit up when she whispered the enchantment and she held it in front of her to illuminate the inside of the tent. In the dim light, she could see he was lying face down, his body twisted into his blanket and his face buried in the pillow. He was holding on to it tightly, his hands clenched into fists, his torso writhing and his legs kicking, trying to get out of the strangling hold of the sheets.

She entered the tent and dropped her staff, extinguishing the light, and knelt down next to him. Not sure what to do, she gingerly touched his back. His shirt was sticking to his skin, drenched with cold sweat.

“Cullen,” she whispered, “wake up.” It didn’t have any effect. “Cullen,” she said, more stern this time and gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up already, you’re dreaming.” Still he didn’t respond. Instead his leg jerked back again and the muscles in his back tensed violently as he clutched harder at the pillow.

She watched him for a while, chewing the inside of her lip while she considered her options. In an attempt to relieve him from the blanket that was cutting into his skin, she pried his fingers off the cushion and instead of the fabric, he grabbed her hand.

“Fuck,” she gasped, the pressure making her think he might just break her fingers. With them rapidly going numb, she pushed him to his side to pull the blanket out from under him, untangling it from his body. It seemed to alleviate some of his discomfort, though it didn’t lessen his grip on her hand. “Fuck a nug,” she muttered, lying down next to him, “are you half Qunari?” He turned his head towards her and she reached over to stroke the hair away that was sticking to his sweaty forehead.

With her hand resting on his cheek, she tried to think of the lullaby her father used to sing to her when she first started to feel her connection to the Fade. She’d been younger than the average child to come into her power and was scared out of her mind when the dreams began, but he’d held her close and explained to her that it was all part of being a mage. Over time she’d gotten used to them, but she hadn’t been willing to sleep alone for a long time. Instead, she’d spent many nights curled up in bed between her parents, listening to Malcolm sing her and her mother to sleep. She only remembered the first few lines, but began to sing anyway, hoping it would give Cullen some of the same relief it used to give her, and found the familiar words coming back to her as she went.

> “Shadows are creeping,
> 
> No need to fear.
> 
> My baby is sleeping,
> 
> As long as I’m here.
> 
>  
> 
> My dearest is dreaming,
> 
> Sleep until day,
> 
> Stars are now gleaming,
> 
> Chase your sorrows away.
> 
>  
> 
> No harm will befall you,
> 
> With me at your side.
> 
> The night is your refuge,
> 
> And I’ll be your guide.” 

She repeated the words over and over, and the tension slowly faded from his body. Eventually even his hand relaxed and she wiggled her fingers to alleviate the tingling as the blood rushed back into them. Whether he was awake or not, she didn’t know, but he moved over and wrapped his arm around her, pushing her on her back as he buried his face in her chest. She carefully hugged him and stroked his hair, ignoring the flutter of her heart while she focused on reciting what little she remembered from the Chant against his crown.

 

A streak of light peeked through the tent entrance and fell over her face. Her head was resting on Cullen's arm, his other lying idly across her hip. He'd calmed down eventually, relaxing his grip on her, and apparently she had fallen asleep herself not long after. She took a deep breath, enjoying the warm comfort of his familiar body and wishing that she didn’t have to leave.

He stirred behind her and she froze as his hand clenched on her thigh. He moaned softly, his nose rubbing against her ear and his breath tickling her neck. “Cullen?” she breathed. He didn’t reply, but she felt his hips push against her backside as his hand slid over to her belly. Her skin seemed to ripple under his touch and a hot thrill stirred between her legs.

She swiftly slid out from under his arm and bolted from the tent. Dorian was sitting at the campfire and looked at her in surprise as she stomped by, but she kept walking until she was away from the camp, where she dove headfirst into the river. The water was freezing, but even it took a while to quench the arousal of her body. She sat on the rocky riverbed, her hair drifting weightlessly around her, and watched the bubbles float up. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer she pushed up to the surface, throwing her wet hair back as she straightened herself up.

Dorian had followed her down and was sitting on a large rock at the riverbank, watching her animatedly. “That wasn’t your tent,” he grinned.

“Don’t get your silky underthings in a twist,” she grunted, wading back to the shore. “He was asleep.”

“Him sleeping gets you so hot and bothered you need to jump into a river? You must not be able to get anything done when he’s awake.”

She leaned next to him on the rock. “That’s why we usually keep him in his tower.” Their laughter disturbed a flock of birds in a nearby tree. They took flight and soared overhead, chirping loudly. “Ugh…” she groaned, dropping her head onto her arms. “I think I need to get laid.”

“Really?” he chuckled. “Got someone in mind?”

“Not really,” she sighed, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I spend all my time with you lot, sort of limits my options.”

“Varric will do anything for you,” he smirked.

“Ew,” she grimaced. “Even if he didn’t bring the crossbow, that’s like... doing your dad or something. Then there’s you, you’re useless. And I wouldn’t even know where to start with Bull.”

“Oh,” he murmured, smiling to himself. “He’d take care of that.”

“Still,” she said, frowning as she tried to picture it. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

“How about Blackwall?”

“Too beardy.”

“Well,” he laughed, “that does only leave you with the one option. Unless you want to grab a random soldier.”

“Don’t really want to do that. Somehow I think it might spoil the whole Herald illusion if I start sleeping around the barracks.” A shudder ran through her spine, partly due to the cold morning air on her wet body and partly because she could still feel Cullen’s touch on her skin. She let out another groan and stared up at Dorian. “What am I going to do?”

“Here’s a crazy idea,” he said smugly. “Tell him how you feel?”

“I can’t,” she sighed. “He’s not interested. Not to mention troubled enough as it is.”

“That may be true, but I don’t believe he’s not interested.”

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “Whenever I’m about to lose at chess I just mention you. He makes the stupidest mistakes when I do.”

“Great, the very thought of me makes the commander of the Inquisition lose his sense of tactics,” she scoffed. “And you think that’s a positive thing?”

“Come on,” he smiled, nudging her, “it’s not like that.”

She pushed herself up and sat next to him. “He’s been perfectly clear now on several occasions,” she said, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s time I accept the situation for what it is.” She rubbed her hands together, warming the air around them with her magic, and began to brush through the wet strands with her fingers.

“Rem, you were upset when you approached him,” he said, frowning. “And drunk. He wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

“No,” she sighed. “He wouldn’t. But I did about the worst thing I could have done. He pretty much told me he doesn’t trust me and next thing I do is get wasted and throw a fireball in his face.” She paused for a moment and thought. “I should stop doing that.”

“Usually you’re a lot of fun when you’re drunk.”

“Only because Varric stops me in time.”

“Just don’t drink without us then,” he said simply. “Anyway, Cullen will forgive you for that, if he hasn’t already.”

“I know. He’s made every effort to move past the whole thing as soon as possible. But at this point I’m lucky he even still sees me as a friend.”

“You know there’s more to you guys than that.”

“Dorian,” she groaned, “why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he smirked. “Maybe because we could be dead at any moment and it’d be nice to see you happy before then.”

"I am happy.” She flipped her hair to the other side and began to move her hands over her body. The warmth was soothing, drying her clothes and heating up her skin. “I’ve got you guys and what I have with Cullen right now works, sort of, despite my best efforts to fuck it up. I’m not going to mess with it.”

He watched her in silence, following the movement of her hands until she finished drying herself off. “There are some things we won’t be able to give you, Rem,” he said quietly. “You love him.”

She sighed and stared into the water, thinking back on how Cullen had clamped onto her in his sleep. Back in Kirkwall, after she was named Champion and Meredith took on the role of the viscount, the situation had slowly degraded until the very city seemed filled with hostility and resentment. She herself often got out of town altogether to travel, feeling there was less and less reason for her to even stay there. But she kept coming back for the few friends she had left and for Cullen.

He never wanted to discuss what was going on in the Gallows in that time, nor did she feel the need to make him. Seeing how the look on his face changed with every visit was confirmation enough of the stories that were going around. As the situation worsened, they talked less and less. Instead, they would just sit against the wall together and share a drink, or hold each other for a moment. He’d had a similar note of desperation in his touch then as he did last night. The kind of a man holding on by the skin of his teeth and in dire need of some warmth and companionship.

“If I do, I can put his needs above my own, right?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” Dorian replied, frowning.

“That makes it easy then,” she said decisively, looking up to meet his eyes. “What Cullen needs right now is a friend. If I can be that, I will. And nothing else.”

Dorian watched her for a while and sighed deeply, before putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She rested her head against him and closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to mourn her decision.


	37. Before the Dawn

Cullen woke slowly and lay in his tent for a long time, looking up at the canvas roof. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall his dreams. They’d started off like they’d done many times before. The Ferelden Circle, destroyed and corrupted. Hawke with him - breathtakingly beautiful, perfect... utterly wrong - purring and moaning, touching him, pleasuring him, whispering promises in his ear.

Lately there were times he was able to take some measure of control and force the visions out of his mind, but last night it never got to that point. Instead, a voice had carried through the hall and drowned out the other noises in the tower, though it hadn’t come from the woman standing over him. It had sung a quiet song and a gentle warmth on his face had eased his fears. Her image had glared and moved away, disappearing into the fog with the rest of the scene.

He'd wandered the emptiness, searching for the source of the voice, until he found Remy. She was sitting on some blankets and pillows, her legs pulled up to her chest and looking out of a bay window in the middle of the void. Unlike her counterpart, her eyes were gentle and her hair slightly messy. She didn’t look at him and instead continued to gaze out of the window into the empty space with a relaxed smile on her face, singing softly. He’d sat down next to her and the song ended, after which they sat in silence, simply being a part of the white world around them. He’d felt peaceful and warm, and wished he’d never have to leave.

He rolled onto his side and got up to put on his armor. Though he usually startled awake several hours before dawn, unable to fall back asleep, judging from the light streaming into the tent it was already mid-morning. He almost tripped over a staff lying close to the entrance and picked it up. It was hers.

Outside, he found the soldiers in the process of breaking down the camp and beyond he noticed Dorian and Remy sitting next to each other by the river with their backs turned towards him. He frowned and stared at her, still unsure of what had happened, when his lieutenant came up to him and he got distracted with the work at hand.

 

They had been riding for about an hour when she pulled up next to him. “Hey you.”

Mimicking his rider, her mount breathed a greeting to his. The horses had been stablemates since they came to Skyhold and, despite their different tempers, the two had taken quite a liking to each other.

“Hey…” He looked away a moment and wanted to kick himself when he felt his hand habitually reaching up to his neck. “Ehm, did you find your staff? I put it outside your tent.”

She motioned with her head to the weapon strapped to her back. “I did.”

“Right,” he laughed, “of course.” They rode in silence a while and once he turned back to speak, she opened her mouth, clearly about to do the same.

“Go ahead,” she chuckled. “You first.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “So… were you in my tent last night?”

She thought a moment, a deep crease forming in her forehead. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I was. You were thrashing around.”

The skin on Greyback’s neck twitched as a fly landed on it, and he reached down to brush it away. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. “Thank you. Whatever you did… it helped.”

“I didn’t do much.” She kept her eyes low as she fiddled with her horse’s mane. “But I’m glad it made a difference.”

He hesitated, wondering if what was on his mind was too out of line, or if he could handle the consequences should she agree. He had almost begun to think his body had adapted to the little sleep he got each night, but now the uncomfortable realization had dawned on him that this wasn’t the case in the least. He felt better and more alert than he had in a long while and the idea that he might have been doing his job at half capacity or less all this time was deeply disturbing.

“I don’t suppose…” he began, but the words got caught in his throat. Color rushed to his face and he looked away, only to shake his head after a moment and dismissing the thought altogether. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking up the reins. “Never mind.” He spurred Greyback on and the stallion quickened its pace to a reluctant trot.

“Cullen.” He sighed and slowed down, waiting for her to catch up. “If you want,” she said tentatively, “we could share a tent. It’s the lyrium, right? I told you to tell me if there’s something I could do after all.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” he muttered, shifting in his saddle.

“Well,” she smiled, “I’m offering, so you don’t have to. I share with the guys all the time, it’s no big deal.” She dug her heels into the gelding’s sides and circled around him. “See you tonight.” Before he could object, she’d gone off to the end of the convoy to rejoin her friends.

 

For the following nights she would find her way into his tent after the first watch had begun, position her bedroll a little away from his and talk with him until they both fell asleep. Whether it was because they got closer to Samson’s camp, or that they went further away from Skyhold, Cullen couldn’t tell, but the longer they were gone, the more disturbing his dreams became. Her presence was no longer as effective as it had been, but she would gently wake him up instead and hold him close, while she sang him the song that she had on the first night. Other times they’d recite verses from the Chant, though she would still sing the words rather than speak them.

Once, she asked him what he’d been dreaming about, but he still couldn’t bear to tell her. The demon wearing her face purred and moaned in his ear, while her hands traced his body, making him writhe with longing and seethe with resentment. Whenever he woke to find her face close to his, it took him a moment to recognize her for who she was. She didn’t ask him again after the first time, and instead just hugged him to her chest and whispered reassurances into his hair. He couldn’t tell if she knew and became increasingly fearful that she would find out, but he couldn’t bring himself to lose the comfort of her presence. She left whenever the first light began to filter through the canvas, keeping their nightly rituals secret from the rest of the party.

They reached the Shrine of Dumat after a bit under a fortnight, though Cullen could feel its influence well before the entrance came into view. He swallowed as they stepped inside. The lyrium felt completely wrong, yet an overwhelming desire began to rage through his body. The crystals crackled with energy as they walked by, reaching out and trying to pull him in. He licked his lips, almost able to taste the substance in his mouth. Dorian said something about getting a headache, while Varric’s eyes shifted around nervously, and even the usually steady Iron bull looked a little on edge. Remy led them through, carefully stalking her way through the halls.

He realized this was the first time he saw her on a mission and, despite the horror of their location, it was beautiful to witness. She seemed to be completely in her element, having perfect awareness of her surroundings as she moved through them like a predator cat, silent and deadly. They encountered several groups of red templars, but dispatched of them quickly. He hadn’t seen them since Haven, but Remy and her companions seemed to have grown rather accustomed to their enemy and were extremely efficient in taking them down. A few times he felt her magic course through him, an energizing current that restored his energy and strengthened his attacks, while healing cuts and mending bruises.

They found Maddox and the tools he’d used to manipulate the lyrium. Though it meant they had a good shot at undoing the power of the armor, Cullen found it hard to savor the victory. He stared at Samson’s letter, his blood boiling in his veins at the words his former colleague had seemed fit to address to him, while the man he had once known lay dead at his feet. Remy appeared next to him, took the letter out of his hand, and rapidly let her eyes fly over the message. She crumpled the note in her fist and cast it aside, before taking his hand and wordlessly asking him to come with her. He nodded and followed her out, letting her guide him through the remnants of the madness that had transpired at the scene and out into the open air.

 

They made camp not far from the shrine. Though they were out of range for the lyrium deposits to have any real effect, Cullen could still feel them on his skin, hear their words in his mind. That night, his dream was the worst so far.

The Circle of Ferelden was a familiar sight, but it became entangled with the visions from the day, the burned and disfigured bodies of the mages and templars he once knew now also overgrown with red crystal. They rose to their feet, like life sized marionettes pulled up by strings, their feet dragging across the floor, their eyes crackling and glowing red. Their voices echoed in his head, speaking of his failures and of all the lives he couldn’t save.

He was in the middle of the Harrowing Chamber, unable to move, unable to think, only able to look in horror at the people that once were his friends. Hawke was once more standing in the middle of the carnage, beautiful and frightening, manipulating the Veil around her with simple, careless motions of her hands. She stared at him, a mocking smile on her face, and came closer, her hips swaying from side to side. Her hands ran up his legs, over his abdomen, and up to his chest, pushing him back onto a strange fleshy growth mixed with red lyrium, and she sat herself astride him.

Her tongue ran over his throat, along his jaw, and flicked at his ear, while her hands raked through his hair. He felt her tug on the straps and buckles of his templar armor as she loosened the plating. His arms jerked and twitched, desperately trying, but unable to free themselves of the invisible bindings she’d put on them.

She drew herself up, holding his face in both her hands and smiled before she kissed him. Raw, animalistic, sucking hard on his lip and biting down, grinning in satisfaction when his hips pulsed against her. “Did you ever actually believe you were in control, Knight-Captain?” she purred, her tone mocking. “Look at you... some templar you are.”

Wether it was that her attention faltered, the sound of his old title, or something else entirely, he did not know. For a split second he felt the opening he’d been searching for and his hand shot up to her neck, closing around it. She gasped and clawed at his arm, but he pushed her off him and down to the floor.

Straddling her with his hands clenched around her throat, she kicked and writhed under him. Any second now, horns would grow from her head, her skin would turn purple and she would vanish for the night, leaving him alone until the next. Except… she didn’t. Tears formed in her eyes as they looked at him in fright and she tried to say his name, but the words got stuck between his hands.

“You’re not her!” he growled through clenched teeth. “Stop trying to trick me!”

Her nails dug into his arms and she let out a strangled sob, before her hand reached up to his face and he was blasted backwards.

 

The ground was cold under his back, pressing the soaked fabric of his shirt against his sweaty skin. He blinked against the darkness, breathing deeply to steady his shaking breath. The Harrowing Chamber was gone and as his eyes got used to the dark he recognized the familiar roof of his tent. A faint light shone from somewhere to his side and he turned his head to look at the source. Horror washed over him as reality came crashing down.

Remy was sitting in the corner, huddled against the canvas wall. Her face was red and tear stained, and her hands glowed with healing light as she held them to her throat. She sobbed quietly, her body shaking as she gasped and coughed for air. He scrambled to his knees and hastily crawled over to her, but her eyes grew wide at his approach and a green barrier flashed into existence around her. He immediately came to a halt and sat in front of the shield, furiously muttering apologies. “Remy… I am so sorry.” Her neck was red and already starting to bruise, and he could see white patches where his fingers had clamped down on her skin. “Maker, forgive me… I am so, so sorry.”

She shook her hands and the blue light shone again, fading the marks he’d left when she stroked over them. “Who are you?” she croaked.

He stared at her. “What?”

“Answer the question.”

“C-Cullen Rutherford, commander of forces for the Inquisition.”

“Who am I?”

“Remy Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and the Inquisitor.”

“Where are we?”

“Outside the Shrine of Dumat. We’ve completed our mission and tomorrow we leave to return to our base at Skyhold.”

“Very good.” She removed her hands and breathed deeply, but didn’t lower the shield yet. The bruising around her neck had not gone completely, and it clearly would have been a lot worse if not for her magic. Her eyes were bloodshot, small veins of red clashing with the blue. She stared at him and he could see the fear had not left her yet. “You might have told me,” she said. “I had a right to know.”

“I am so sorry, Remy. I’m so…” He looked down at his hands. They were shaking violently and the trembles resonated through his body.

“Cullen.” She had extended her arm out, laying her hand flat against the inside of the barrier. He felt tears burn in his eyes as he reached up and placed his palm against hers, separated only by the thin layer of magical energy. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m all right.”

He shuddered and fiercely shook his head. “It’s not,” he hiccuped. “I could have —”

“But you didn’t.” The barrier flickered and vanished, and he could feel her touch, radiating hot against the clammy coldness of his own skin. She took his hands in hers and brought them to her mouth, breathed against them, and rubbed them warm. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him, but instead focused on firmly stroking his hands and forearms. Her touch was reassuring, making him feel like a young animal being nursed by its parent.

“ _You’re_ sorry?”

“Well,” she smiled, “not as sorry as you, I’m sure. But yes, sorry nonetheless. I’m being a bit crap at my promise to not use magic on you without permission.”

“You…” He slowly shook his head, not believing her words. “You can do whatever you want.”

A wide grin spread across her face. “Careful, Commander, I can’t be trusted with such leeway.” She continued to rub his hands and arms until they were up to her temperature, while he breathed deeply and tried to steady himself. Eventually she let go and peeked outside. “It’ll get light soon,” she stated. “I’m going to get ready. We’ll leave here as soon as possible.”

Cullen watched her get up and gather her bedroll. When she pushed open the tent cover to leave, he grabbed her hand. “Remy…”

She bent over and hugged him with one arm, while he wrapped his own around her waist and pressed his face against her neck, breathing in her smell. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We’ll figure this out.” She pulled away, her hand lingering on his face. Her thumb stroked his cheek and she pressed her forehead against him, taking a deep breath before swiftly turning away. He shivered at the cold draft that came in before the entrance fell closed behind her.

His hands were still shaking as he got dressed, causing him to take much longer than normal to fasten all the straps of his armor. Though the sun was barely up when he emerged from his tent, the camp was already being torn down around him. Remy was pacing up and down, giving out orders and packing up supplies, while soldiers stumbled around her, some only half dressed as they frantically followed her directions. Her companions sat around the fire, bleary eyed and yawning profusely.

“Can someone hit her over the head so I can go back to sleep?” Dorian groaned. His hair was in disarray. Apparently she had not allowed him his usual morning routine.

“Morning, Curly,” Varric grunted. “Do you know what’s gotten her Inquisitorialness into a frenzy?”

He cleared his throat, but Remy showed up next to him before he could answer. “Are you still complaining? Go break down your tents and ready your horses.”

“Yes, boss,” Bull said as he got up, clearly not wishing to antagonize her.

“Thanks, Bull,” she smiled, before raising her eyebrows at the other two. “See how easy that was?” Dorian looked like he was about to protest, but was interrupted by a soldier who came up behind her. He handed her a report and she skimmed it quickly. “Thank you, sergeant. We’ll forgo resource gathering on the way back, so please send this along to Josephine.” The soldier glanced at Cullen for confirmation, who nodded, and the man gave them a curtly salute before taking his leave.

“Why are we rushing?” Dorian complained. “We haven’t even had a decent breakfast.”

“We’ve got confirmation on the Western Approach,” she said sternly. “Alistair will meet us there, something is going to happen soon with the Wardens.” She paused and gave him a look Cullen couldn’t interpret, but the mage seemed to understand. He inclined his head and both he and Varric got up to get ready, while Remy sighed and turned towards him. “We’ll want to leave some people here to take care of what’s left in there, I imagine?” She jerked her head in the direction of the shrine.

“Yes, I’ll put together a team.”

She nodded and was about to leave, but turned back when he took hold of her hand. He hesitated, absentmindedly stroking his thumb across her fingers. The raven with news from the Western Approach had arrived the night before, but there was enough time. It wasn’t the reason why she was rushing and they both knew it. He didn’t want her to change the mission on his account, rush everyone out, and upset her friends, but neither did he want to stay a moment longer in the vicinity of the lyrium or the site where Samson did his insane experiments and he… He couldn’t bring himself to form the words in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“We’ve covered that.” When he looked up her expression was friendly, which only made him feel worse. “I better get on,” she said, squeezing his hand and turning away.

 

By the time he lay down in his tent the next evening, Cullen felt utterly destroyed. All day she’d been relentless, pushing the soldiers and the horses to their limit, though she’d somehow managed to spin it in a way the men hadn’t resented her for it. She had taken full responsibility for their hurried departure and forced them to ride until the very last sliver of light had died down. To make up for it however, she had sent word ahead to an acquaintance of hers and arranged for them to camp on their estate, where a lavish meal and several barrels of beer had been prepared for their arrival. They’d managed to reach the Imperial Highway, which meant they only had a couple of days of easy travel left to the capital.

He stretched out his legs, alleviating the cramp in his lower back from the long hours in the saddle. Even though he was dead tired, he didn’t close his eyes, fearful of what was awaiting him in his sleep. He rolled onto his stomach and stared at his hand in the dark, still shocked at what he had managed to do. A moment later the familiar rustle of the tent cover made him look up as Remy came in, dragging her bedroll behind her.

“You can’t be in here!” he said, quickly pushing himself up.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She plunked herself down on the mat and wriggled under her blanket.

“I’m not.” He sat up and stared at her. “You shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“… Yes.”

“Tch,” she scoffed, closing her eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Remy…”

She opened her eyes again and sat up with a sigh. “Look,” she said, crossing her legs and fixing him with her stare. “I get your need for privacy and I’ve respected it. But you’re acting like you’re the first person in the world to ever have a desire demon come on to you. Not to burst your bubble, but it really isn’t such a big deal.”

He felt heat flush to his face and neck and reached up in a reflex. “You... You’ve known then?”

“I’ve suspected as much since forever, Cullen,” she said plainly, one eyebrow raised. “You really are quite transparent when it comes to such things.”

His heart hammered in his chest and he felt utterly exposed. Yet… she was still here, instead of turning away like he’d expected her to. He glanced at her. “You don’t mind?”

A smile spread across her face, part sympathetic, part entertained. “Please, it’s a compliment, no? Obviously you have good taste. I am rather desirable, if I do say so myself.” She paused and looked over to the braid lying over her shoulder, picking up the tip between her thumb and index finger. Cullen followed her eyes. Her hair was greasy and there was dirt under her fingernails as well as on her shirt. He guessed she probably didn’t smell too great from the long day in the saddle either. “Okay, maybe not right now,” she chuckled. “But I clean up pretty good.”

“Yes…” Despite everything, he couldn’t help but return her smile. “You do.”

“Listen,” she said, flicking the braid to her back. “We can’t change what happened last night, but it’s easy enough to prevent it from happening again. Fact still is you sleep better when I’m here and, strangely, I do too. So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep it like that for the remainder of this trip.”

He sighed and looked away. “It's not just the demon.”

“I figured,” she said softly. “Is it Kirkwall? Or Ferelden?”

“Both… but mainly Ferelden.”

Her hand touched his and he looked back. “I’m sorry,” she said seriously. “For what happened to you back then.”

He blinked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that,” she smiled. “But none of the mages who were there can ever apologize to you and you deserve that much.” She took his hands in both of hers and he felt their warmth spreading through his body. “You deserve a lot more actually, but I’m afraid this is all I have to offer. It’s probably stupid, but maybe it makes a difference.”

It didn’t, not really. As much as he wished it would, it wouldn’t keep the dreams away the next time he went to sleep. However much her image had become mixed with those of Ferelden’s Circle, he didn’t even know her back then, nor would any apology from Uldred or any of the other mages involved ever be enough to make up for what they did. But it didn’t lessen the wave of gratefulness that washed over him when he looked at her.

He put his arms around her and pulled her towards him. Her arms tentatively found their way around his waist and she rested her forehead in his neck, while he held her to his chest, stroking her hair and breathing in her smell. Like he’d guessed, it was a mix of dirt, sweat, and horses, yet it didn’t make her any less appealing than had she just stepped out of a bath. In a way it was reassuring; no demon would ever present itself to him in such a way.

“We should probably get to sleep,” she said after a while.

“Right.” He let go of her, finding that it cost him a lot more effort than it logically should. “What did you have in mind?” She turned around to sit with her back towards him and took his hand in hers, while pulling out a long, thick, silky ribbon with her other from her pocket. “Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“Bull,” she mumbled, holding out her hand, palm facing down, and placing his on top. “Close.”

He closed his hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. Somehow picturing Bull with the soft string of cloth only raised more questions and he raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t ask,” she chuckled, glancing over her shoulder. The ribbon sprung to life and wrapped itself around their hands and wrists like a snake, covering their skin and tying into a knot at the end. “There,” she said, “that should make a difference.”

“Okay…” he said hesitantly, looking from their hands to her face and back. “Now what?”

“Do I need to do everything?” she sighed, but he saw her smile. “Lie down.”

He did as she ordered and she lay down next to him, resting the back of her head on his shoulder while his arm curved around her. She reached over to pull her blanket over herself and wiggled into a comfortable position.

Though it hardly seemed like a failsafe method, with how they were positioned it would probably be difficult for last night’s incident to repeat itself, or at least it would wake them both up before it got to the point it had. The fact it was necessary, however, made him feel slightly nauseous, not to mention having her curled up in his arm sent a million other feelings rushing through his body. He watched her for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. “Could I get some of that?” he asked eventually, tugging on the blanket.

She opened her eyes and threw him a skeptical look. “Use your own.”

“What?” She nodded towards the sheet that was lying on his side. “Oh… right.” He grabbed it and pulled it over them.

He stared at her for a long time, watching her as her breath lengthened. She had her free arm folded against her torso, her hand lying on his chest, and her face turned towards him. The way she had thrown herself onto her mat whenever she came into his tent and almost immediately seemed to drift off had given him the impression that she slept like a log, only disturbed by his night terrors. But her earlier words came back to him and he remembered the nest she’d made up on the loft of her chambers, so much like the one in the window in her house in Hightown.

“Do you have dreams?” he asked her.

She sighed and opened her eyes slightly, before snuggling back against his shoulder. “I’m not a dwarf.”

“No,” he laughed softly. “I can see that. I mean… bad ones?”

“Yeah.”

“… Desire demons?”

“Hmm-mm,” she sighed. “Sometimes. They’re fun compared to the other crap.”

Cullen frowned and thought a moment. He’d never considered the appearance of any demon fun, though he’d heard stories from Dorian that were a lot more relaxed than his own experiences. “Until they try to possess you, of course,” the mage had chuckled, with such lightness of tone Cullen had stared at him from across the chessboard with his mouth open. “Close the hatch, Commander, that’s how they get in,” he’d grinned, before taking his queen.

“What are the other things?” he asked her, though it wasn’t too hard to imagine.

She moaned softly and rubbed her cheek against him. “M’mom,” she mumbled. “M’sister, Coryphenus…” She muttered a few more things that he didn’t quite catch anymore and she was gone. He stroked her hair back with his free hand and took hers, lifting it up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. She sighed and stretched against him, her face relaxing in a gentle smile. With his forehead resting against hers he closed his eyes, softly reciting the Chant until he too drifted off to sleep.

 

Everything until they were ready to make the travel back across the sea happened much faster than he liked. The journey to Val Royeux, the moments before they went to sleep and the ones after they woke up, the loading of the ship… all seemed to pass by in a flash.

Cullen stood on the pier, checking some last minute details with the captain, when the last supplies were being carried into the hold. He looked back to see Remy standing at the shore, watching him. She wouldn’t be going with them. Instead, she and her party would press on west to the desert, much to Dorian’s relief. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. The idea of going to sleep without her tonight was not appealing in the least.

His nights had still been turbulent, though the further they got from the shrine, the better they got. She’d gotten closer to him with each night, eventually not even bothering to bring her own bedroll anymore. A few times he’d tried to bring up what happened, unable to wrap his mind around how she could still be lying in his arms without worry.

“Will you drop it?” she’d snapped at some point, pulling her head up from his chest. “Do you want me here or not?”

He’d swallowed. “I do.”

“Then what? You want me to say it’s fucked up? It is.” Her eyes had been cold as ice as they’d glared at him. “I get it, all right? It’s messy and there’s probably something wrong with me that I’m still here. But I... feel better when I’m with you.” Her mouth twisted into a teasing smirk. “Don’t get all chivalrous on my ass over this.”

He’d nodded and she’d dropped her head to his chest again with a sigh, after which he hadn’t brought it up anymore.

She came up to meet him when he walked over to the shore, leaning her back against the railing. “We’re ready to depart,” he told her, wishing it wasn’t so.

Her eyes searched his, a faint frown lining her forehead. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked softly.

“Of course.” He stepped closer and reached up without much conscious thought, brushing her hair back and letting his hand trail down her arm, resting it on her waist. “Don’t worry, all right?”

“You know I will anyway,” she smiled.

“Really, don’t. I’ll be fine. I’m not the one going into the desert.”

“Meh… at least it’ll be warm.”

As he watched her, her expression slowly faded. They stood in silence for a long time, simply looking at each other. There was so much stirring in the depths of her eyes, he thought he might lose himself in them. It amazed him every time, how they could go from almost black when she got angry, to bluer than the purest gemstone when she laughed. Right now they were the color of the sea next to them, a deep blue that glittered with secrets and memories. At the surface, he could see her concern for him and an affection so strong it made his chest ache. Her mouth twisted into a small smirk.

“What?” he asked.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

He huffed a short laugh. “I always want to kiss you.”

“Really?” she said on an audible exhale, a hint of relief in her voice. “Then what in the Void are you waiting for?”

Though they’d been in each other’s arms every night for the past weeks, her body felt tense as he embraced her. Their lips met for the briefest of moments, a brush as light as a whisper, yet it sent a crackle of electricity through his spine. She moved in closer, sliding her arms up over his chest. It was completely different from how she’d kissed him in her chambers. She was tentative, careful almost, to an extent he wondered if it was really her. But as he pushed his body to meet hers and took a hold behind her head, he heard a soft moan build in her chest and she curled against him, tangling her fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss like only she could.

Though she couldn’t melt into him, she seemed bent on trying, pressing against his body and tongue and wrapping him in her arms. He lifted her up and sat her on the railing, holding her tightly as he positioned himself between her legs. Her taste, her smell, and the feeling of her in his hands had not changed... Her touch was comforting, rousing, familiar and fresh all at the same time, and it felt like he had finally recovered a piece of himself he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

When they broke away she let out a deep sigh and kept her face pressed against his, smiling gently as she continued to slowly drag her fingers through his hair. From somewhere to their right, someone cleared their throat. Dorian, Bull and Varric were standing at the shore, leaning on the white stone balustrade.

“So...” Dorian said, smiling smugly, “are we still in a hurry for the Wardens?”


	38. Here Lies the Abyss

_“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Cullen is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”_

_“How does it feel? Knowing that he will never know happiness? You’ve toyed with him, strung him along, lied to him, ran away when it got too real. He spent his life serving his Maker and what did he get for it? An apostate who could never offer him the future he deserves and has broken his heart time and again.”_

_“Do you think this time it will be different? People don’t change. You know of the darkness that lingers in his heart. Part of him will always hate you and you will hurt him again. And all he will have in the end is the knowledge that you never truly loved him.”_

Nothing in her life had been as satisfying as the moment she plunged the end of her staff through the Fear Demon's chest and the thing vaporized in front of her.

 

Remy watched her companions jump through the rift, just in time before the bloated creature blocked the way. She stepped back, sizing up the monster that was preventing their escape.

“Go,” Alistair called. “The Wardens made this mess, a Warden should be the one to fix it.”

“If you think I am going back out there and tell someone called ‘the Hero of Ferelden’ that you died on my watch, you’re insane,” she smirked. “Either we’re both getting out of here, or we’re at least going to give this thing one heck of a fight.”

The knight looked at her for a moment, contemplating her words. Then a boyish smile spread across his face, bashful defiance shining in his eyes. “All right,” he grinned, “I can get on board with that.” He held out his hand and she shook it, gripping it with force. They turned and charged together into the mass of tentacles and teeth.

 

 _I’m going to die._ The thought surfaced in her mind, but quickly sank down and settled in her stomach. She had lost count of how many blows she had taken, but she had the strange realization that she shouldn’t be able to walk around anymore. Her hands and feet felt cold and distant, her heart strangely still.

She watched Alistair fly through the air and get knocked into a pillar as the monster struck him with one of the few remaining tentacles. He coughed and spit blood, but pushed himself up and charged back in. In a haze she joined him, instinct taking over. She spun, flipped, ducked, and jumped, somehow avoiding more hits and landing surefire ones herself. The creature shrieked as they cut through the rest of its limbs.

“We get out of here,” Alistair panted, “I am going to do everything on my to-do list.”

“Really?” she gasped, evading a strike and shooting lightning from her staff. “Like what?”

He blocked the blow of a tentacle and grunted loudly as he brought his sword down, cleaving through it. “First, find Neria,” he breathed, shaking his head to clear the demon’s blood off his face that had poured from the severed limb. “And get her a Mabari pup.”

“A Mabari?” she asked, her voice higher than usual.

“Ours died,” he said through gritted teeth, raising his shield against the massive jaws that descended upon him. “I’ve wanted to get her a new one for ages but never got round to it.” The teeth clattered against the steel and he slashed upwards with his sword, causing the monster to retreat momentarily. “What about you?” he yelled.

With a well-placed fireball she drew the monster’s attention away from him. The gaping mouth came after her instead and she readied herself.

“I go tell someone I love him.”

As the jaws came down on her, she thrusted her staff up, jamming it as far into the creature’s throat as she could. The teeth clenched on her arms and torso and she was lifted into the air, the mandibles cutting through her armor and skin as they tried to draw her in. The monster wailed as fire erupted from her weapon and raged down its body. It dropped her from its jaws and she fell, hitting her head hard on the ground.

She didn’t know up from down while they tumbled through the rift. They hit the stone surface with force, and the air got knocked out of her lungs when Alistair fell on top of her. She lay sprawled on the floor, panting heavily, the weight of him and his armor pressing painfully on her chest.

“Maker,” he gasped, “we’re alive.”

“Get off me, or I’ll kill you,” she groaned.

He pushed away and rolled off her, lying next to her on his back. She listened for the sounds of combat, but there were none. It didn’t take long for the familiar faces of her companions to appear above her, their hands reaching out to pull her up.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Varric scolded her.

“I didn’t make you fly this time,” she breathed, clutching her side. When she removed her hand it was stained a deep red.

Dorian’s eyes were wide in alarm. “Lie down. We need to take care of you.”

“No.” She shook her head and pushed them away, frantically searching the area. Panic gripped her heart when she didn’t see him. He hadn’t been part of the vanguard, but he couldn’t have been far behind. She took a few steps and stumbled, Iron Bull’s thick arm catching her before she fell. Her eyes searched the crowd. _He should be here._ Someone pulled on her arm but she jerked it away, struggling back to her feet.

A blur of red and gold appeared at the top of the steps. It quickly moved down, coming towards her. She blinked to clear her vision. Cullen’s armor was stained with demon ooze and his sword dripping with blood, his face set in horrified shock as he looked at her. Her mind was a blur, but every instinct she had, every fiber of her being, told her to get to him before it was too late. She lurched forward, fighting to keep control over her failing limbs, and he ran to meet her. Her hand stretched out, but it and Cullen faded from her view as her senses blended together; touch, smell and taste becoming indistinguishable from one another, and she fell into darkness.

 

“Hold her still!”

“More lyrium!”

Her body coiled and shook, trying to get away from the many hands that were touching her torso, the pain ripping through her like a thousand knives slicing at her skin. Something was pushing down on her legs, forcing them firmly to the ground. In the distance someone cried out; a loud, pitiful wail so alien she couldn’t understand why it sounded like her own voice. She forced her eyes open and found Cullen’s face above her, blood stains on his skin and in his hair, his eyes shut tight and his lips moving furiously in silent prayer. He was leaning over her, pinning her hands above her head. She glanced down, hysteria quickly settling in at what she saw.

Her armor had been ripped away, baring the extent of the damage to her broken body. Bone was sticking out where it shouldn’t, ripped skin hung off of her frame. The pool of her blood extended far around her, seeping into the cracks between the stones. Bull was lying across her feet to keep her from squirming, while Dorian, Vivienne and Solas sat around them, their hands glowing blue as they worked on her injuries, downing lyrium potions and pouring out the bottles directly into her wounds.

“Don’t look!” Through her tears she saw Cullen staring at her. His face was set, every muscle twisted in a spasm.

“The lyrium…” she squeaked.

He lowered himself down, his arms and forehead pressing down on her, and laced his fingers through hers, holding her hands tightly. “Don’t you worry,” he breathed. “Not for a second, you hear me? Just fight!”

She nodded, tears streaming hot down her face. A wrenching tug at her stomach made her scream out and she sobbed against his cheek.

 

The wheels of the wagon creaked with every rotation. The movement was soothing, rocking her gently back and forth like a boat on a lake, except for the sudden bumps in the desert sands that shot through her body like bolts of lightning. Her mouth was as dry as the wasteland around her and when she coughed it felt like someone had thrown hot coals down her throat. A hand reached behind her neck and water poured into her mouth, granting temporary relief. She licked her cracked lips and opened her eyes. Varric was hovering over her, a flask in his hand, smiling gently.

“I knew you were something else when I picked you up off the street,” he said softly, “but you just keep getting better.”

She breathed deeply and was surprised her chest did not seem to explode, despite it feeling like it had been trampled by a horde of druffalo. “Am I going to be okay?” she croaked.

“You have a ways to go,” he murmured, pouring some water onto a cloth and patting down her forehead, “but the mages are hopeful.”

“Cullen?”

He looked to the side and nodded. She turned her head, her neck protesting loudly under the minimal movement. He was riding alongside them, his dapple grey stallion trotting in tandem with the cart. His armor was covered in dried blood from his hands to his neck, maroon streaks crusty in his blond hair. The sun shone brightly on his face, his expression serious as he kept an eye on their convoy. She heard Varric call out his nickname and he turned his head. When he saw that she was awake he veered his horse closer to them and reached out to take her hand. She could feel his fingers squeeze hers, but her body failed to obey when her brain ordered it to squeeze back.

“You okay?” she whispered.

“Will you stop?” he smiled and she heard Varric chuckle on her other side. “I’m fine. Just rest, all right?”

The sun was bright around his golden head, almost like a halo. She chuckled at her own delirium and drifted off to sleep.

 

“I’m bored.”

“I’m not playing with you.”

“You have to.” She faked a whimpering cough. “I’m sick.”

Varric was sitting at the front of the cart, leaning against the edge. He continued to scribble in his notebook, ignoring her pouting. “Ask Dorian.”

She groaned and looked to her side. The mage was lying next to her, fast asleep, so she looked back up at Varric. “He’s sleeping.”

“So wake him up. I’ve got to get this stuff down before I forget.”

She reached over and tugged on the twirly mustache. Dorian wrinkled his nose and snorted before opening his eyes slightly, looking at her through his dark lashes. “What do you want?” he grunted.

“Hi,” she smiled innocently. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He sighed and pushed himself up, rubbing his neck. “How much longer until we’re back in Skyhold?” he inquired.

“A week or so,” Varric answered.

“Ugh,” the mage grumbled, “I need a bath and a masseur. The knots in my back have knots.” He stretched his arms overhead and twisted his torso from side to side before reaching down to examine her wounds. He unwrapped the bandages covering her body and followed the habitual routine of checking the scars. Here and there his hands glowed as he whispered an enchantment to aid the healing process, and his fingers prodded at her ribs and her chest, checking the state of the bones that had been broken. She looked down. The jagged lines cutting across her skin were starting to lessen in redness, fading into a saturated pink rather than a flaming scarlet, and the bruising had gone from deep blue-purple to a yellowish green. “Doing well,” he smiled. “You’re a tough old bird.” He covered her back up. “Let me guess; you’re bored.”

“I totally am,” she nodded. “Entertain me.”

“All right,” he said, lying down again next to her on his back.

They were traveling across an open field, somewhere along the borders of the Exalted Plains, though the increased chill told Remy they were drawing nearer to the mountains. It had been a little over a fortnight since the battle at Adamant. She still wasn’t able to move much, her body punishing her mercilessly whenever she tried. Dorian and Varric had stayed with her for the majority of the time, only taking the occasional break, for which she couldn’t really blame them. She’d gotten increasingly restless and purposely annoying as her mind was waiting impatiently for her body to improve. The sky stretched over them, bright blue without a cloud in sight.

“I spy?” Dorian chuckled.

“Ha, ha.”

They went through their list of road trip games, but she abandoned most of them with an annoyed sigh after a couple of rounds. Dorian rubbed his eyes and sighed in frustration. “Twenty questions?”

“All right, I got one.”

“Is it blond?”

“Yep.”

“You’re supposed to pick different things from round to round, you know?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I am rather.”

They laughed together, though the motion quickly sent aches through her chest. “Ow,” she chuckled. “Fuck.”

“About time we got back,” Dorian yawned. “I’m sure the commander can entertain you better than I can these days.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You just have different entertaining styles.”

“Do tell me more about his style.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, but she suppressed her laughter to avoid shaking up her body too much.

She smiled and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to Cullen as she’d spent most of her time while she lay motionless in the cart. Josephine had let no time go to waste in announcing their victory at Adamant to the world and it had finally secured their inclusion in the Empress’ ball, meaning Cullen was now swamped with preparations for the event. He’d gone ahead to Skyhold with the army, while they followed with the speed of a broken turnip cart because of her injuries.

 

He’d come by a few nights after they had started their journey home. She’d still been hazy, but looked up at the sound of Greyback trotting up next to the cart. Cullen had smoothly hopped on, while the horse continued to walk alongside them.

“Hey,” he said quietly as not to wake Varric, who was asleep at the front of the wagon. “How are you doing?”

“Pretty shit,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice light. “But better now that you’re here.”

He gave her one of his half-smiles and leaned down to kiss her, taking care not to put pressure on any of her injuries. His mouth barely touched hers, caressing her lips with a tenderness that didn’t fit at all with the strong and hardened leader he’d been during the battle.

Her party had camped outside the fortress after confirming the situation with the Wardens, waiting for the troops to arrive while keeping a close eye on the situation inside. When at last they came, it was Cullen riding in front, tall and proud with a ruthless determination in his eyes as he led the bulk of their army to line up in front of the keep.

They’d shared the briefest of moments, a quick touch of his forehead to hers as he held her hand, but then their attention was back on the upcoming battle. He walked between the siege engines, barking orders and instructions, and soon enough he raised his sword, signaling the start of the assault. There was nothing of that ruthlessness to be found as he stroked her hair, her face and her arms with the lightest of touches.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have to go. I’m needed at Skyhold, there is a lot of work to do before the ball.”

She sighed, but nodded. “All right.”

Her body curved against him as he kissed her again and traced the tips of his fingers up her torso, but the motion immediately sent a jolt of electricity through her system. She hissed in pain and he quickly retreated.

“Damn Wardens,” she spat. “Is it too late to exile them after all?”

“A bit,” he smiled. “But you’ll have the pleasure of making them do all your dirty work.”

“Small consolation,” she huffed.

“Patience,” he murmured. “Good things come to those who wait, no?”

“Hopefully they come somewhere more private,” Varric grunted overhead.

 

They reached the keep a few days later and, though her body still ached severely, she insisted on riding the final stretch on Tempest, not wishing for the people to see her brought in like a bale of hay. Though she was definitely not the Herald of Andraste - something that had not come as a surprise, but still a huge relief - it hadn’t changed the image their followers had of her. Bull lifted her up in his giant arms and carefully placed her in the saddle, and though every muscle in her body spasmed in protest, it also felt wonderful to be viewing the world from a different angle again.

Tempest carefully stepped his way through the mountains, while she held on to the pommel of her saddle and soon enough the keep came into view. From the start of the bridge she could already see the people that had gathered in the courtyard to welcome them back and when they rode in through the gate it was under loud applause and cheers. Bull helped her to dismount and immediately the people swarmed around them. She glanced around and spotted the rest of her companions scattered throughout the crowd, smiling broadly and clapping along with the rest of the Inquisition. Her stomach dropped as the realization dawned on her. Something was wrong. Cullen wasn’t there.


	39. Perseverance

Fire and stone had rained down on them as they stormed the fortress, yet it had not kept them from advancing. Cullen watched as the men and women he’d spent the last months training forced the battering ram up to the ancient gates. Every one of them that got felled by an arrow or hit by one of the falling rocks stung in his chest, though he couldn’t be more proud of their people and their devotion to their cause.

“For the Inquisitor!” one of them called, before they released the ram for the first blow. He glanced around to see her standing a little ways off, her inner circle behind her. Her gaze was fixed on the gate and her hair seemed adrift with the magic that filled the air around her. The moment they broke through the doors she sprung into action, making her way inside without a moment’s hesitation with her companions following closely behind. She spun around to face him once they were through the gate. Though she didn’t speak, her eyes were clear. _I’m coming back to you._ He inclined his head, returning the promise, and she was gone.

The next time he saw her she was standing in the center of the courtyard, blood trickling down her body from Maker knows how many wounds into a rapidly growing pool at her feet. The people around kept their distance, their expressions mirroring the shock he felt. She lifted her head and something sparked in her eyes when she saw him. He ran down the stairs and she shuffled towards him, before collapsing in his arms. Her hand was slippery as it traced down his face, leaving a long red streak on his skin before she went limp.

The lyrium sang to him while the mages worked. He kept his back turned towards them, ignoring the distortions in the Veil, the whispers of spirits, the smell of the liquid that saturated his mouth and filled his mind. While his lips recited the Chant, his thoughts were not with it. All he thought of was her, while she writhed under him, screaming and crying, as the others tried to mend her broken body. _Not now,_ he wished with all his heart. _Maker, please... not like this._

The taste did not leave him. Not when the mages declared it was all they could do for the moment, nor when they carried her out, or when they began their journey back to Skyhold. Though he didn’t want to leave her side, being around her was worse. The lyrium was inside of her, had seeped into her very skin, and oozed from her pores. Whether it actually was or if it was just in his head, he couldn’t tell. When he leaned down to kiss her he could only muster the slightest of touches, terrified he would’t be able to control himself once the taste would actually hit his lips. The smell was only a hint, a note mixed in with her own, yet it overwhelmed everything else and if not for her pained hiss snapping him out of the haze, he thought he might not have been able to pull away.

His entire journey to Skyhold he couldn’t keep the thought of running his tongue across her neck away, if only to get another hint of the taste he’d been missing so desperately. The idea was repulsive, making his stomach turn itself inside out with disgust. As he lay in his tent, the nausea that had plagued him during the first weeks of his withdrawal returned, and what little sleep he got in between lurching for a bucket was plagued by nightmares worse than ever before.

The weeks after they got back to the keep he buried himself in work. There were letters to write to the families of those who had fallen, plans to make for how and where they would position their soldiers for back-up while they attended the ball in Halamshiral, lists of guests to screen and familiarize themselves with, and a million other things that needed his attention. He met with Josephine and Leliana every day, but found that he heard less and less of their conversations, and his lieutenant had to nervously point out mistakes he’d made in his reports with rapidly increasing frequency. And all the while it haunted him; her smell, tainted by lyrium.

It was when he’d spent several hours staring at the floor plans of the Winter Palace without getting any further in planning their defense that he grabbed the scrolls, clenching them in his fist, and threw them off the table, before making his way down to the blacksmith’s, pushing through the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard.

“Lady Cassandra.”

The Seeker was staring into the fire, her tall frame dark against the flames that lit her from the front. She turned around and raised her eyebrows. “Cullen? Have they arrived?”

“Arrived?” he asked, blinking against the sudden darkness and the lingering sting between his eyes.

Now her eyebrows shot up in earnest. “Remy,” she said tentatively, “and the others. They should be back any moment.”

If his heart had not been hammering already from the strain it was under, it would have begun. He hadn’t remembered. Worse, she couldn’t see him like this.

“I need you to find a replacement for me,” he said, moving over to stand by the table so he could hold on to the edge for support.

She looked him up and down in that stern, unimpressed manner. “Not again.”

“I can’t —” A sharp stab in his side made him wince. “I can’t perform my duties. The ball is only weeks away, if we are not prepared —”

“It is more than a month, and it is a ball, for the love of Andraste,” Cassandra said dismissively. “I can see you are not well right now, but this is something you will get through.”

“No!” He shook his head. _The feel of her skin under his tongue, hints of lyrium mixed in with a gentle saltiness. His hands clamped around her neck..._ He breathed in sharply, staring wide-eyed into the fire. “I won’t. It will only get worse and I —”

“Cullen.”

The Seeker’s expression was uncharacteristically soft when he snapped his head up to look at her. “We went through this when Remy left for the Western Approach,” she said. “You got over that. Adamant was a success because of you. This will pass as well.”

He sighed and turned his gaze back to the hearth, watching the shadows dance within.

 

The joy of kissing her had only lasted a short while. As they left the harbor he’d watched her for as long as he could, seeing her grow smaller and smaller while she looked back at him from the shore. _“We’ll talk when I get back... without an audience.”_ Her words had echoed in his mind, her smile haunted him. He didn’t doubt that she had forgiven him for what he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. That night the dreams had returned.

It had been no desire demon that showed itself. He stood in the center of the lowest dungeon in the Gallows, the room that they had used as a Harrowing Chamber. Chains lined the walls and the only light came from a few torches that lit the damp room, casting looming shadows along the low ceiling. She sat on the floor in front of him next to the lyrium pedestal, looking up along the blade he had pointed at her chest. Her expression was neutral as she cocked her head to the side. Bruises lined her neck. “Here we are then,” she smiled. "I told you that this..." She gestured between them. “... was a terrible idea. Sweet dreams, Knight-Captain.” She grabbed the base of his blade with both her hands and drove it through her chest. The light died out in her eyes and she collapsed to the floor.

Night after night the dream was the same, growing only more horrifying with each repeat. By the time they reached Skyhold he was so ashamed of himself, so wrecked with guilt over what he’d done and how he had been selfish enough to even let it happen, that he’d sought out Cassandra immediately. The Seeker had managed to calm him down, and he found that within Skyhold’s walls the nightmares began to lessen as he focused on the work at hand.

About a week later Remy’s raven had arrived with her report on the ‘test’ the Wardens had performed in raising their demon army. Included was a note for him, an extra piece of parchment bearing her bird-shaped mark.

> _Dear Cullen,_
> 
> _Who knew deserts get fucking cold at night? I take back everything I’ve said about your ridiculous cloak, I could really use that thing right now to keep me warm. Hope you get here soon and we can all go home. Dorian is insufferable with all the sand that’s getting into his clothes._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Remy_
> 
>  
> 
> _P.S. Knowing you, you have been brooding from the moment we said goodbye. Stop it. Inquisitor’s orders._

He’d huffed a short laugh and placed it among her other letters and soon he was swamped in getting their troops ready to march on Adamant.

 

The Seeker was still looking at him, her head tilted to the side and her brow furrowed in concern. “Cullen?”

“No...” he sighed, rubbing his eyes between his thumb and index finger. The headache was spreading through his head, like nails stabbing into his skull. “You don’t know what I’ve already done.”

“If Remy can get over whatever it was, you should be able to as well.”

“She shouldn’t.”

Cassandra crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “What do you want to do then? Turn your back on the Inquisition and all the people who care about you, while you try to work through this alone? It would destroy you.”

 _“This will destroy me!”_ he roared, no longer able to keep his temper in check. “And I will drag her down with me. I will not! If it’s the last thing I do, I will _not_ let that happen!” He paced through the room, all the while feeling Cassandra’s gaze on him like the point of a dagger. “You knew this could happen! We both knew! It is not working and the time has come to admit it.”

The Seeker continued to stare at him, looking completely unimpressed. “You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it,” she said sternly. “Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word. It’s relentless. I can’t —”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“If I am unable to fulfill what vows I’ve kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit —”

The door opened. Her movement was still stiff as she walked into the room, her eyes big with concern and apprehension. Twice now she had returned from the brink of death and once again she stood before him, keeping her promise. Yet he couldn’t keep the ones he’d made himself. He sighed and walked out the room, her eyes following him as he passed her by. “Forgive me.”

“And people say I am stubborn,” Cassandra scoffed behind him. “This is ridiculous.”

 

He made his way up to his office, the door rattling in its hinges as he slammed it shut behind him, and grabbed the papers he’d stacked onto the chest in the corner of the room. They scattered across the floor as he threw them away, wrenched open the lid of the trunk and dug out the contents, reaching for the wooden box. He slammed it onto the table and opened it.

His breath was uneven as he stared at the contents. How often had he not repeated the steps? Grinding the crystals, heating them above a candle while adding the distillation agent to make the potion, feel the magic liquid pour down his throat and set his veins alight, his powers invigorated. It had been comforting once, sacred even, but as the years went by it became increasingly clear it didn’t give him any power... it held him in its. The ritual that once was holy, part of his service, had become a burden - tainted - and it had infected everything that was connected to it.

He reached out for the vial holding the crystals, stopping an inch away and letting his hand hover over the box. It would be so easy to take it. He’d be able to focus again, at last be at his best, provide what the Inquisition - what she - deserved from him. He roared in frustration and grabbed the box, throwing it across the room where it smashed against the door. She’d appeared as if from nowhere and a shard from the philter cut across her cheek, leaving a thin cut from which a single drop of blood trickled down.

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter. I —” She looked unfazed as she reached up, wiping the blood away and mending the cut with a single motion. “Forgive me,” he sighed, letting his head hang low.

“You’re saying that a lot,” she said almost conversationally, leaning herself against the bookcase, “though I’m not aware of anything you need to be forgiven for.”

She smirked slightly in that half teasing way, observing him with her head cocked to the side. In any other situation he’d laughed, but now it just made the ache in his chest even worse.

“You shouldn’t —” A sharp stab in his side made him gasp for air and he clutched the side of the table. Through the haze he saw her expression darken, her eyebrows drawing together into a worried frown. The pain subsided and he shook his head. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“But it is,” she said softly. “And again you’re not talking to me about it. I thought we moved past that.”

“You don’t understand —”

“Then help me to.”

She came towards him, taking careful steps as if she wasn’t yet sure what her body could handle. Her hand reached out to touch his face, but he stepped back and turned away to stand by the window. He watched her move towards the desk from the corner of his eyes, sitting herself down on the edge with her back turned towards him and exhaling audibly as she held her hand to her side. A long silence fell while he tried to gather his thoughts and she waited for him to do so.

“What happened in Ferelden’s Circle...” he said through his teeth, the memories as sharp in his mind as the day they were put there. “The templars - _my friends_ \- were slaughtered. They tortured me. Tried to break my mind and... How can you be the same person after that?”

She didn’t look at him, instead keeping her gaze firmly focused on the floor in front of her. “You can’t,” she said quietly.

He shook his head and looked back out the window. “Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted Meredith, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness.” She turned her head and glanced at him from over her shoulder. “I gave up so much,” he continued, his voice sounding far away. “Even you.”

“And now? You’re going to give up even more?” she replied, turning to face him. “Haven’t you done that enough?”

“Don’t,” he sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes and walking around her. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.” She observed him quietly as he paced through the office, the affection in her eyes burning on his skin. “I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won’t leave me...” _The horrors in the Circle. Her counterpart, entangling her with the memories, corrupting her image. His hand in her hair as he pushed her down, silently resenting her for being a mage. For making him feel the things he felt, while knowing it could never become more than the volatile affair it was._ Still she was watching him. Patiently, lovingly... it was nothing he deserved, and it was infuriating.

“No one expects you to be perfect.”

“How many lives depend on our success?” he said loudly, turning away. “I swore myself to this cause... I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!” _His hands clenching down on her neck._ His fist shot up, rattling the bookcase and sending a sharp pain through his knuckles. “I should be taking it.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked after a moment. Her voice was calm. There was no disappointment or judgement, only concern for him and his wishes.

He turned around and sighed. “No.”

“Then don’t.” She extended her hand to him. “Come over here.”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at her with wide eyes, his breath uneven in his chest. “I… I can’t trust myself around you.”

“Maker’s ass, Cullen. I’d chase you around, but I’m not exactly mobile yet and I just climbed what felt like a million stairs, so get over here.” He hesitated. “I will order you if I have to,” she smirked.

With a sigh he stepped closer and as soon as he was within reach she seized his hand to pull him further towards her. She removed his gloves and tossed them aside, after which she placed his hands on her neck. Her grip was surprisingly firm and she kept them in place, despite his attempts to pull them away.

“Listen,” she said seriously. “What happened, shouldn’t have happened. But it did and you can either feel bad about it forever, or we move past it.”

“You don’t know the things that have been in my mind,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“What, that you were pissed at me for being a mage? That being rough with me made you feel slightly better about what happened to you?”

He stared at her. “How would you know that?”

“Cullen,” she sighed, releasing his hands. “I was there as well, you know. I was aware of the effect I had on you... and I’m sorry.” Her smile was sad as she reached up to stroke the side of his cheek. “We are two messed up people. I won’t deny that having you be with me felt like a victory over the Chantry. But however turbulent we began, it doesn’t change that there was something really good there as well, nor does it change where we are now.”

Her fingers laced themselves together behind his neck and she gently tugged on it until his forehead was touching hers. He kept his breath shallow, fearful of taking in her smell. “You have a choice to make,” she continued quietly. “You have given the Inquisition - given me - so much more than you ever gave the Order. Now it’s about what you want and what you want your future to look like.”

She pushed him back slightly to look at him. “What I will tell you is this,” she said, fixing him with her eyes. “What I want, is to see if we can make this work and when it does, I mean it to last. That won’t change, whatever you decide. But if you do go back to lyrium, you know what the consequences will be in the long run.”

“I want that too,” he sighed. “But... these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I cannot endure this —”

The tips of her fingers touched his lips. “I believe you can,” she said softly. “And we’ll start making new memories.”

She winced slightly when he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, but she pulled him in closer nonetheless. He inhaled deeply and let out a sigh of relief. The smell that filled his nose and mind was hers, and hers alone.


	40. A New Day

“Ouch! Andraste’s flaming ass, will you watch it?”

“Inquisitor!” Josephine exclaimed. “Language!”

Remy threw her head back and groaned. She had been standing on a small stool in the middle of her quarters for over two hours, while Vivienne’s seamstress worked on a gown for the ball around her. It would have been boring at best, but wasn’t helped at all by the ambassador. She had finally gotten her hands on her hair and was pulling on her head as she brushed it in all sorts of directions, trying out a variety of hairstyles that might make her look suitable to meet an Empress.

“More high cut, I think,” Dorian muttered, eyeing the slit that the woman kneeling next to her had been pinning off.

“Quite right,” Vivienne nodded and she walked over to point out directions to the seamstress.

It wasn’t often the two mages agreed and Remy looked at them in disbelief. “Do either of you understand that I am there to track down an assassin? And that I need to be able to move, preferably without my ass hanging out?”

“My dear, you’ve been watching me for months now,” Dorian said, waving her objections away with a careless hand motion. “Surely you’ve learned how to do magic and still look dashing.”

“I’m afraid that particular talent is lost on me,” she grumbled.

He smirked and turned towards Vivienne, who had moved back to the desk, and the two bent themselves over the different designs for her dress.

The door creaked open below and heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs. A moment later Cullen appeared on the landing, raising his eyebrows at the scene.

“Commander,” she said quickly, stepping down and moving to stand in front of him. “Do you have those reports for me?”

“Excuse me?” he said, blinking a few times in quick succession. For a moment she could see him wondering if he’d actually forgotten a report she’d asked for.

“Get me out of here,” she hissed, leaning into him.

“Ah.” He glanced around her to the other people in the room. “Right, the reports. It is a rather... delicate matter. I thought we might discuss them in my office?”

“That does sound urgent,” she said loudly. “Best we do that right away.”

The voices of the others called out to her in protest, but she was already out the door, dragging Cullen behind her by his arm.

They made their way down to the courtyard and she took a deep breath, stretching her arms overhead. One of the pins in the gown scratched her skin when she sat down on the steps and she pulled it out, tossing it away with an annoyed grunt. Cullen sat down next to her, smiling gently as he watched her.

“Honestly,” she huffed, “I doubt the original Inquisitor had to put up with this shit.”

“Making an impression isn’t unimportant,” he replied, pulling up the corner of his mouth. “We denied Corypheus his demons, but it would be good to secure support from Orlais. Sadly, court approval is how we get it.”

“Seriously, they’ll be convinced to help save the world by me playing dress up?” she muttered. “If that’s the case, I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth saving.”

“Well,” he said softly, taking her hand in his own, “even if only for selfish reasons, I think it is.” 

It had been well over a week since they talked in his office. He’d told her he needed some time and she’d given it to him, though not without difficulty. She’d spent her days sitting on her balcony, keeping a close eye on the watchtower while she waited for her body to heal, as well as hounding the people under his command or any servants that had been inside his quarters for information. Eventually one of them had come back with a guilty look on his face and had handed her a note.

> _Rem,_
> 
> _Stop harassing our people. If I find one more person trying to sneak in cake between my reports or “subtly” probing me about my health, you can go to the ball by yourself._
> 
> _While that is not actually true, you seriously need to stop worrying. I’ll be fine, but have a lot of work to catch up on since Adamant. Please focus on getting healthy yourself and trust that I’ll come find you when I’m ready._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Cullen_

She’d kept the note on her while she got swept up in preparations for the ball, pulling it out and reading the words whenever she found herself missing him, and finding that they never failed to bring a smile to her face.

The leather of his gloves was smooth on her skin as he stroked her fingers between his own. She raised her head to meet his eyes. They were soft and bright, and the shadows that had drifted within them when they last talked seemed to have lifted.

“You look better,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” There was a lightness in his tone she hadn’t heard in a long while. “I wanted to thank you... When you came to see me... If there’s anything...” He looked away, his hand moving up to his neck. “This sounded much better in my head.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, nodding in consent. “Things always do.”

“Inquisitor!”

The sudden shout made her jump and she turned towards the group that was approaching them. With her being cooped up in her chambers, staring at the watchtower, she hadn’t seen much of the Inquisition’s members. Varric had reported to her on what was going on outside of her room and the kids that had continuously been asking about her well-being. They’d been overjoyed when she showed herself again, after she got Cullen’s note and had been willing to brave the staircase, and she had enjoyed shocking them with stories about the desert and Adamant. Now however, the disturbance was not quite as welcome.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted them. “How are we doing?”

“Someone threw a goat against the wall!” a voice from the back of the group called out.

“What?”

“Right,” Cullen chuckled next to her. “Yesterday. No one told you?”

“No,” she laughed. “What —”

“Julie is having dreams,” Timothy said loudly, cutting in. With the age of eleven he was the oldest of the group, and with his dark hair and green eyes he would undoubtedly grow up to be quite attractive. He was rather clever too, but also bossy and not always showing the greatest sensitivity to other people. Remy liked the boy quite much. He reminded her of Carver at that age… and perhaps a little of herself.

She turned her attention to the girl with the unkempt ponytail. Normally she was one of the first to stalk her with questions, but now she was unusually quiet. “Have you, Jules?” she asked. “What kind of dreams?”

The girl shifted uncomfortably from side to side and did everything she could to make herself appear even smaller than she was. “Yes,” she said in a voice so thin Remy had to lean in to hear her. “I see people made of light. They talk to me.”

Cullen shifted next to her and Remy inhaled deeply as she looked the girl over. She was about seven or eight years old and if she recalled correctly there had been mages in her family. “Come here,” she said softly, holding out her arm. The girl quickly came towards her and she pulled her on her lap. “Listen to me,” she said, “there is nothing to be afraid of. Those people are just curious about you, because you have a gift.”

“A gift?” Timothy asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “A talent, something you are naturally good at. Like how some people are good at singing or sword fighting. Magic is like that too.”

“Is Julie a mage?” the boy asked, looking between her and the girl.

“I think she might be. We’ll find out soon enough.” She stroked Julie’s head and looked her in the eye. “And if she is, she’ll have some other studies to do, but everything will be the same otherwise.” The young girl returned her smile, clearly relieved.

“My momma says magic is dangerous!” a mousy haired boy squeaked. His eyes were large as saucers and they stared at the girl with apprehension. “And that mages are demons!”

The body of the young girl tensed in her arms and Remy glanced over to Cullen. He had raised his eyebrow, clearly wondering who the mom in question was. “What’s your name?” he asked the boy.

“Charlie,” he squeaked.

She hadn’t seen the boy before and she guessed his family hadn’t been in Skyhold for long yet. From Cullen’s expression it was clear he didn’t intend to let them stay long without having a serious conversation with them first.

“Well, Charlie,” she said. “Your mom is not completely wrong. Mages aren’t demons, but magic can be dangerous. That is why children learn how to use it properly and why the templars exist.”

“But aren’t the templars bad now?” Timothy asked, a worried frown forming in his forehead.

“No, it’s a little more complicated than that. Some of them made bad decisions, but many of them didn’t. Quite a few of them are here actually, and if Jules is a mage they can help her. They’re good people, that want to protect others.”

“Did they help you?” the girl asked.

“In a way,” she smiled. “I was a bit older than you, but I got the best one of them all. Our own Commander Cullen, right here. And he can help you too, if needed.”

The girl cocked her head to the side and looked him over. “I like him,” she nodded. “He looks like a bear.”

“Yes...” Remy chuckled, resting her cheek on top of the girl’s head. “That is why we all like him.” Cullen cleared his throat and looked away, his face slowly turning red as she and Julie continued to admire him.

“Will you do magic now?” Timothy asked impatiently, clearly not liking that their attention was not on him.

“Sure.”

Julie hopped back onto the floor and Remy began to rub her hands together, moving them around in elaborate gestures that had very little to do with actual magic. Cullen observed the nonsensical motions with his eyebrows raised skeptically, while the kids stared at her, their eyes growing bigger by the second.

After building up the anticipation a while longer she gave a tiny pull on the Veil, and a light crackled into existence between her palms. A butterfly formed, its body clear crystal with wings made of the thinnest slivers of ice. It began to move, flapping its wings at a rapidly increasing pace until they were producing a faint humming sound. Others quickly materialized around it, taking flight one by one, and the children scrambled up, even mousy-haired Charlie, to chase them around the courtyard.

Cullen huffed a laugh next to her. “You sure know how to put on a show.”

“One of my other gifts,” she smirked. They sat in silence for a while, watching the group play while she manipulated the swarm around the yard with lazy flicks of her finger.

“You were good with her,” he said after some time, nodding towards Julie. The girl laughed when one of the butterflies touched down on her arm and she raised it in front of her face. The worry had gone from her eyes and now they were wide with wonder as she watched the little wings move.

“Been there myself,” Remy shrugged. “Try to keep an eye on her for me when I’m not around. I’ll let Fiona know.”

“Are you sure she’s going to be a mage?”

“Oh yeah… I’ve had those dreams. I’m sure.”

“All right,” he nodded. “Don’t worry about it, I got it covered.”

“Good man.”

“Best one of them all, right?” There was a mischievous spark in his eyes that made her laugh. “Thank you,” he said softly. “That was nice to hear.”

“You sound surprised,” she smirked. “Don’t you think I'm nice?”

He looked back to the group of children. “It’s not the first word I would have used to describe you.”

“Well, aren’t you a dear.”

“I said ‘would have’,” he chuckled. “You’ve changed.” Flecks of gold shimmered in his eyes in the afternoon light. “It’s still not the first word I’d use, but it’s gotten higher up on the list.”

She briefly leaned her head onto his shoulder and he reached behind them to put his arm around her. His fingers brushed over the braids that Josephine had forced on her and he leaned in, only to have the moment rudely disturbed by Timothy running up to them.

“Inquisitor,” he said, glaring at Cullen, who had pulled back in an instant. “Will you come play with us?”

“I’m not really dressed for it, mate,” she replied, a bit more dismissively than was probably called for. “Later, all right?” The boy did not look happy, but turned on his heel and ran back to the group.

“He likes you,” Cullen said, frowning. His fingers traced the nape of her neck, sending tingles down her spine.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “He can wait a bit though.”

“Tease.”

“You know me.” She turned back to him. “Where were we?”

“I’m not sure,” he laughed, raising his hand to cup the back of her head. He brushed his nose against hers, dragging out the anticipation. “You do look lovely, you know,” he murmured softly.

“And as you know, looking lovely is always my priority while hunting down assassins,” she smirked. “Though I’m glad you enjoy it at least.”

“Very much so.” His lips brushed against hers, barely touching, yet making trickles of electricity spark under her skin.

“Rem!”

She groaned and looked up to the source of the voice. “What?!” she yelled and Cullen let out a quiet chuckle at her annoyance.

Dorian was leaning against the wall at the entrance to the keep, a wide smirk on his face as he looked down upon them. “You can schmooch on your own time,” he called. “Get your ass up here. Fashion waits for no one.”

He winked at her when she stuck out her tongue, before going back inside the keep. “Ugh,” she sighed, “now I wish I hadn’t made so much fun of him and Bull. He’s not going to let up at all while we figure this out.”

“He’s not the only one,” Cullen sighed. “You won’t believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

“Does that worry you?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather my - our - private affairs remained that way. But...” He took her hand. “If there was nothing here for them to talk about, I’d regret it more.”

“Me too,” she smiled. “I guess it’s just something we’ll have to deal with then.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment. “Maybe not,” he said suddenly. “We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was going to put them off until after the ball, but there is still time… perhaps you can accompany me.”

She blinked in surprise. “I’d like that. Where are we going?”

“Ah,” he said, looking away a moment. “There’s something I’d like to show you. I’d prefer to explain there.”

“All right,” she smirked. “Be mysterious. When do we go?”

“When would you like to?”

Sharp heels clicked down the stairs and someone seized her arm. “Are you daft, darling?” Vivienne chided her. “Those fabrics are unique and more expensive than anything else this Inquisition has put together!”

She let the mage drag her up and followed her towards the keep, looking back over her shoulder. “As soon as fucking possible.”


	41. Falling Into Place

It was hard to distinguish seasons in the mountains, but it was clear that spring was well underway when they made their way down from Skyhold. The sun was already strong when they left the keep, despite the early hour, and it continued to beat down upon them during their descent. If not for the breeze that blew in through the pass it might even have been uncomfortably hot to ride, despite the fact that Cullen had switched out his armor for something lighter.

Remy was in high spirits, pointing out wildlife around them and recounting the latest gossip she’d heard. It was odd to be away with just the two of them. Between his own problems, her recovery, and the preparations for the ball, he had barely seen her. And though they had spent moments alone before, it felt different without the bustle of the castle or other members of the Inquisition around them. 

Her horse was fretting under her and she picked up the reins a bit. “That stallion of yours got a race in him?” she smirked.

He looked down the rocky path. It was well travelled by now and they’d done construction on it to make it easier for people to reach their base, but it was still steep and the surface could be slippery in places. “That would be inadvisable.”

“Mouh,” she pouted. “Spoilsport.”

“I’d hate for you to break your neck right after almost dying,” he said dryly. “Again.”

Tempest made a sudden leap to the side as a fox jumped out from behind a rock. It froze momentarily in the middle of the road, its yellow eyes fixated on them, and ran off to the other side where it disappeared into a crevice. Remy was shortly thrown out of her saddle by the sudden move, but quickly compensated. “Easy, handsome,” she laughed, petting the gelding on the neck. “Save your energy for when we reach flat land and the Commander stops being a wuss.” She raised her eyebrows, looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Spare yourself the effort,” he laughed. "You’re not dragging me into this.”

“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Be all responsible. You can help me write a new song instead.” She wrapped the reins around the knob of her saddle. Though the gelding had been fidgeting from the moment she took him out of the stable, he relaxed his neck and calmly walked along without her containing him. She pulled her notebook from her pouch and thumbed through it.

Cullen glanced over her shoulder. There were quick sketches and scribbles, as well as pages of text with lines and words scratched out here and there. “Hold on,” he said as something caught his eye. “Go back.”

She shot him a sideways glance and angled the book away from him. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

He looked at her in disbelief before trying to snatch the book from her hand. She laughed and held it out of his reach, spurring on her horse to circle around his and move away. A little down the path she halted, holding the book up in the air.

“If you want it,” she teased, shaking it, “come and get it.”

Tempest clawed at the ground with his front hoof and the sudden activity caused the usually calm Greyback to become restless as well. Cullen huffed a laugh and shook his head, before digging his heels into the stallion’s sides and easing up on the reins. The horse shot forward and Remy shrieked with laughter. She quickly spun her mount around, and they raced down the mountain.

Her hair blew in the wind, raven locks fluttering behind her and over her face. She was still holding out the book and pulled it away whenever he reached for it. Her other hand was on the reins, but only loosely. As they galloped over the path she was one with the horse and Cullen could not see whether it was responding to her movements or the other way around. 

While she and Tempest seemed to search out rocks and cracks to jump, his own mount found the safest path down the slope, avoiding any dodgy patches and obstacles. He patted the horse on the neck and it shook its head, letting out a loud snort. Cullen usually focused on precision work when he trained with the animal, only letting him run at maximum speed for short bursts at a time. But even tough he was older than the young gelding, he seemed to find the run invigorating. He raised his hooves higher than normal, stomping them on the ground with extra force, and while he was still as responsive as always, he didn’t need any encouragement to maintain his speed. 

The horses were neck and neck as they barreled down the path, though the larger Greyback tended to take the lead more often than her gelding. The sound of her laughter got lost in the wind streaking past their faces and, to his surprise, Cullen found the lingering stress of the work he’d left behind in Skyhold got blown away with it as well.

When they reached the bottom of the mountain she pulled Tempest to a halt and grinned broadly. “I win.” She tossed the book in his direction and swung her leg over the horse’s neck.

“I’m pretty sure I was down first,” he replied, catching it and dismounting himself.

“You were,” she smiled, pulling the reins over her horse’s head, “but I still win.”

He smiled to himself as he watched her walk down to the river, where she dropped herself in the grass and the gelding began to drink from the stream beside her. Cullen unhooked the reins from Greyback’s bridle and the horse trotted over to stand next to its friend, while he went to lay down beside her, opening the notebook in front of him.

The first of the sketches seemed to go back as far as before Kirkwall. They got better the further in the book he went and were mainly of people. Dock workers, farmers, guards; all showing everyday scenes of regular people. Scattered between the sketches were lyrics to her songs, though most seemed to be early versions, different from the texts she sung now. He paused on the page that had initially caught his attention.

It was a sketch of him, younger and in templar armor. He didn’t see much of himself beyond a quick glance in the mirror in the morning when he checked his hair or shaved, and he didn’t recognize the expression she had captured him with. His eyes were soft as they looked at something beyond the border of the page, his face resting in a smile. “When was this?”

She looked over and flipped the page, checking the date on the back. “August… 9.34 apparently. I didn’t draw it on sight, but from memory later on.”

August 9.34… After the invasion, and before Meredith had deteriorated too much. He didn’t remember it as a pleasant time, or any time in Kirkwall for that matter, but in the drawing he looked… happy. “It’s nice,” he said softly.

“Well, you’re very pretty. It’s hard to mess that up too badly.” She leaned her head on the palm of her hand and smirked, while he breathed a laugh and continued to thumb through the book.

There were more sketches; Varric tuning his lute, Fenris cleaning a blade, Aveline at her desk. One page was missing and he had a good idea of what used to be there, but he didn’t ask to confirm. While she’d been traveling, her drawings were less of people and more of animals and nature, though there was one of Alistair. The last pages that were filled were from her time in the Inquisition. There were general impressions of their members - kitchen maids, children, healers, soldiers at training - as well as portraits of her inner circle; Dorian reading a book in his chair, Cassandra wiping her brow during training, Solas looking concentrated while he painted one of his murals. There were more of himself as well. One where his brow was furrowed in concentration, a sword in his hand. Another where he was smiling widely and looked off to the side, possibly based on one of their meetings in the war room.

She watched him quietly as he went through the drawings. “Is it weird to see yourself?” she asked.

“It’s weird to see myself the way you see me,” he replied, tracing one with his finger. “I’m not sure I deserve the image you have of me.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up. “I’m never satisfied with how they turn out. There’s always something that doesn’t look right, and they never reflect the things I see well enough.”

“You should be more confident.”

“And you should follow your own advice.” She leaned in and nudged him gently with her nose. “You’re the best man I know,” she whispered, “and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased.”

He closed the book and she rolled onto her back as he leaned over her, stroking her hair back and lowering himself down to kiss her. The gentle breeze made the long grass brush against his face, carrying the sweet fragrance of the meadow with it. Their horses stopped drinking and Greyback shook his head, making droplets of water land on his hands. They moved away and the rhythmic sound of their grazing mixed together with the slow rushing of the brook. There was such a serenity to the scene that, for a moment, it was hard to believe there was still a war going on in the world around them.

He pulled back after some time and looked down on her. Her hair lay spread around her head like a frame and she was smiling gently, her eyes half closed. “We’re not going to get very far if we keep this up,” she said softly.

“Right,” he chuckled. “Do you want to continue?”

“Yeah, let’s go. The suspense of the surprise is killing me.”

He raised his eyebrows at her relaxed expression. “You sure look like it.”

“You have a calming effect on me.”

“Is that a good thing?” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Very good.”

Cullen looked around as they rode through the village. Almost eighteen years had passed since he left and he felt an odd sensation seeing it now. The Blight and current events had not left it untouched. Several houses were no longer where he remembered them to be and others had been built in their place. The Chantry still stood where it always had and currently seemed to be under construction.

The few villagers that were still out in the night looked at them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Though Honnleath had not been as cut off from the world as some other villages, anyone new arriving in town had still been regarded with uncertainty. It was only logical in such a small community and he himself had looked at travelers the same way when he was younger. It was strange to be on the receiving end of the stares and he wondered for a moment if coming back had been a good idea.

“I know this place,” Remy said next to him.

He looked over in surprise. “You do?”

“Yeah, I think so. I was younger and we probably didn’t stay long, but it seems familiar.” She pointed towards the green. “Wasn’t there a weird statue there?”

“There was,” he said, frowning. “I wonder what happened to it.”

She moved her horse closer until her leg was brushing against his. “So,” she said, smiling. “You’re from here, yeah? Tell me all about young Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

“First, no one ever called him that,” he laughed, reaching over to put his arm around her waist. He pulled on the reins until their horses came to a halt and pointed in the distance. “I lived down there, but we would often come into the village once we finished our chores. Besides playing chess there wasn’t much to do at home. I didn’t mind, but my siblings were more… energetic.”

“Three of them, right? Quite a crowd, I had my hands full just with two.”

“It could get pretty busy,” he nodded. “Though I wasn’t the eldest, like you. Mia had that responsibility.”

“I’d like to meet her some day.”

He tried to picture her with his family, sitting around a dinner table in some farmer’s kitchen. Even when she was just a refugee living in Lowtown, there was something about her that made her stand out from the masses. The idea of her in a domestic setting, surrounded by his screaming nieces and nephews, was strange, to say the least. “If you want, of course.”

She pulled up an eyebrow. “You seem skeptical. You think she won’t approve of me?”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “She’ll love you, you can bond over how you both boss me around.” She laughed brightly and he reached up to stroke her hair back, noticing how much he’d missed that simple habit. “There’s just something so… traditional about bringing you to meet my family,” he continued. “It’s weird to picture you in that.”

“Lately I’m thinking I could use some traditional in my life at some point,” she replied. “Don’t want to be camping around the country with Varric until I need to use my staff as a cane.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but bumped against her face instead when the horses suddenly shuffled underneath them. “Sorry,” he said, when she reached up to rub her forehead, grinning. “I’ll try that again later.”

“You better,” she murmured, sitting back in her saddle. He followed her as she spurred on her horse, watching her take in the environment. “So, what did you do with your time here?” she asked, looking back at him.

“Watch my younger siblings when they played with the other kids mainly. I’d join them at times, though it was pretty early when I started hanging around the Chantry. There was a sister who taught some of us to read and write and I liked to watch the templars train. There were always stories about how they were protecting us and the village. At the time, it seemed like the greatest purpose in the world. I begged them to teach me.”

“You must have been adorable,” she teased. “All blond and full of bright-eyed innocence.”

“That only gets you so far,” he laughed. “They merely humored me at first and gave me all sorts of menial tasks to discourage me.” He gestured towards the low stone wall surrounding the Chantry. “I pretty much built that. Took me forever, but afterwards they finally agreed to let me join in some combat training.”

“It’s a beautiful wall.”

“I know. I still consider it to be my greatest accomplishment.”

They halted next to the tavern and dismounted. A stableboy came out almost immediately to take their horses and they went in to get a room. With the innkeeper bringing their gear up, he took Remy's hand and led her back outside. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To where I actually wanted to bring you,” he smiled. “Come on.”

 

They walked down the lane and he pointed out his old house to her. The garden was different and better kept than when they used to live there. He guessed the people who were in there now did not have children running around to mess up the flowerbeds. They went a little further and he turned to their left, pushing through the undergrowth that had been much taller in his memory as they followed the overgrown path towards the lake.

He took a deep breath, and looked around. The pier, the waterline, the wild surroundings… Unlike everything else, his favorite place was still exactly the same as the day he left.

Remy stepped to the edge of the platform and kneeled down to drag her fingers across the water. “You had a thing for docks before coming to Kirkwall, huh?” she smirked, glancing up at him.

“I suppose I did,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the support post. “I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Our place in Kirkwall… I guess it reminded me of here.”

“You left when you were thirteen. How muddled can a head be before then?”

“Ah, you know me,” he sighed, looking out over the water. “I’m a brooder.”

“One of the things that makes you so endearing.” She got up, shaking the water off her hand, and walked over to him to put her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. He wrapped her in his own and breathed in the smell of her hair as he held her close. Flowery, though slightly sullied from the day of riding. It made him smile, and he slowly rubbed his nose against her crown. “So,” she said after a while, pulling back slightly, “how come we’re here? Besides the ridiculously romantic setting?”

Her smile was warm, her eyes slightly closed. He reached up to trace her bottom lip with his thumb, to which she responded by kissing the tip, casting him a sultry glance through her lashes. Sliding his hand behind her head, he pulled her in. 

The response that went through his body whenever her lips touched his own was still powerful, though it did not give the same thrill as it did ten years ago. Now however, it came with an intensity, a sense of belonging so deep, it was more overwhelming than anything he’d ever felt before. 

A content sigh escaped from her chest when he rested his forehead against her. “You only knew me after the Blight,” he said quietly, turning to look out over the lake. “I was... not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me.”

“You weren’t that bad.... and it made for some very good sex.”

“That is one good thing to come out of it, at least,” he chuckled. “But I wanted to show you something of me from before that time. Besides...” She angled her head to meet his hand as he brushed along her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a moment.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re a smooth talker when you want to be, Commander.”

“Will you shut up for a moment?”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, pulling a serious face. “Go on.”

He huffed a laugh and reached into his pocket. “The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training,” he continued, pulling the coin out of its usual place. “My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”

“Good to know you already were a rebel before I came along.”

“Well,” he said, smiling, “you made it a lot worse.”

“And that,” she said importantly, “is what I consider my greatest accomplishment.”

For a moment he looked into the blue eyes that were sparkling with mischief, and wondered how different his life would be if she hadn’t. He decided he didn’t want to know, instead simply settling on feeling grateful that she had, and he returned her smile. “Humor me.” He gently pushed her back and took her hand. She’d probably find it silly, but he’d decided he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “You have more lucky escapes to your name than anyone else I know,” he said, placing the piece in her hand and closing her fingers over it. “But this can’t hurt.”

He’d almost expected her to laugh at him, but as she looked from him to their hands and back, her expression turned serious instead. “What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“What about your luck?”

“I have all the luck I need,” he said softly, releasing her hands and pulling her closer by her waist. Her eyes continued to flit between his own, not looking convinced at all, until she suddenly lifted her eyebrows and stepped back. “Wait.” She pushed the coin deep into one of her pockets, before reaching behind her neck to pull the thin leather string that held the Amell ring out from under her clothes and lift it over her head. “Here,” she said, placing it over his instead. “Now you’re covered too.”

He picked up the ring that contrasted sharply with the dark leather of his travel armor. It was old and quite heavy, probably made of solid gold. “You wear this for luck?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s handy for sealing letters, but it gets in the way and it’s ugly as fuck,” she said simply. “It was my mom’s though… and I believe it works.”

“You can’t give me this,” he said slowly, moving to take it off. He had no idea what its value was, but it had to be more than anything he’d ever owned.

“Sure I can,” she said airily, waving his hands away from the string and repositioning the ring against his chest. “You wear my luck and I keep yours. It’s poetic… or something.” She stepped back and gave him an approving look, before looking up at him with a smile so happy it made him chuckle. When she wanted to be, she could be very cute.

“All right,” he laughed, extending his arm to her. “Get over here.”

She threw her arms around his neck and he briefly lifted her off the pier as he hugged her back. Wrapped in her arms, her shapes pressed against him, it did not take long for that same peace to wash over him as it had whenever he’d met her at the back of the Gallows. Her smell blended together with those of the surroundings, the soft fragrancy making his head swim and momentarily chasing away all thoughts. The oncoming battles and the remnants of his dreams still lingered in the corners of his mind, clouding his vision of the future, but no matter what would come, he silently vowed that he would remain at her side for as long as she would have him.

Eventually she pulled away, smiling gently as she searched his face. “You were happy here.” It was a statement more than a question.

“I was,” he replied. “Still am.”

“I can see why,” she said softly, looking around. She took his hand, pulling him down with her as she sat down at the edge of the dock, and they sat in silence, looking out over the water. 

With how small their house was and with four children only a few years apart in age, it had been impossible to have anyplace or anything truly to oneself when he was growing up. It had made him very protective of what he had always thought of as ‘his’ spot at the lake. It was a ridiculous notion, for the dock was actually visited quite frequently by fishermen and other townsfolk. But whenever he had heard one of his siblings calling out to him, he had quickly made his way back through the bushes, pretending to be coming from somewhere else to keep his hideaway a secret. He felt fairly certain now that they’d always known where he was, but had simply played along with his wish to keep it private, probably on Mia’s orders. Remy was the first person he’d voluntarily shared the place with, and he found that the tranquility it brought was only made better by the fact that she was there with him now.

“I wasn’t so great either, you know,” she said after a while. “When we met.”

“You seemed pretty pleased with yourself.”

“Oh, I was confident,” she chuckled. “But not particularly pleasant.” Her expression faded and a sadness crept into her eyes as they continued to move between his own.

He frowned, trying to recall the words she’d spoken in his office. They were a bit of a blur, so wrapped up he’d been in his own thoughts and pain. “You said being with me felt like a victory over the Chantry,” he said slowly.

“Yeah,” she sighed, looking back out over the water. “After my dad died... The twins were still so young… as was I, really. Suddenly I had to bear the responsibilities he left behind, always the risk of being taken from my family or worse if I was found out. It just made me more pissed that I had to hide myself away than I already was.” She raised her hand and looked at it, turning it over in the air. “Always knowing that no matter who I helped with my power, I would be looked at with fear and suspicion.”

She lowered her hand back down and angled her head to look him in the eye. “You were quite the templar,” she said softly. “That I could make you deviate, could influence you in such a way... part of me felt empowered by that, perhaps even enjoyed it.” A strand of hair fell out of her braid as she shook her head. “It was childish... and I’m sorry.”

He reached up and stroked the hair behind her ear, before taking a hold of her chin and lifting it to face him. “You’re a manipulative witch,” he said, fixing her with his eyes. “And I love you… and everything you’ve done to me.”

Her eyes went from a sad guilt, to mild disbelief, to a faint worry… until the shroud lifted and they lightened before him to the vibrant blue that always accompanied her smile. “I love you too,” she said softly. “And everything you’ve done to me.”

He returned her smile and let his hand brush to the back of her head, leaning in to kiss her. She curled against him, gently placing her fingers against his cheeks until she pushed them up into his hair. He pushed her down onto the wooden planks, running his hands over her curves and feeling hers caress the shapes of his shoulders. Time lost all meaning as he lay with her in that place, so similar to how they’d done in Kirkwall, but completely different in all the ways that mattered.


	42. Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts

If there was ever a time to feel grateful for her friends, the ball in the Winter Palace was it. Her inner circle kept an eye on things inside the ballroom, while Remy weaved in and out of the party looking for clues to the many - oh, so many - conspiracies going on behind the scenes. Though she would have largely felt annoyed at the whole event if she’d been by herself, it was much harder to be so with Dorian next to her.

His eyes lit up whenever they overheard something utterly useless ("But deliciously scandalous!"), which happened much more often than she had thought possible. He also seemed to have a knack for finding documents with sensitive information. Lastly, his constant questions about her trip with Cullen helped distract from all the things going on around them.

“You haven’t slept with him yet?” He stared at her in disbelief as she jumped down from the lattice they climbed before.

“I’ve slept a bunch of times with him, actually,” she replied, grabbing her dress from behind the flower pot where she’d stashed it. “Just not recently.”

Fortunately he and Vivienne had seen sense and her outfit was designed in a way that she could take off the outer layer with relative ease. In the end she didn’t even hate the way they’d made her look. The undergarment was a skin tight body suit made of supple dark leather with elaborate stitching, which she wore with laced boots that reached over her knees and a minimal heel. The dress itself was made of a heavy fabric, deep blue with elaborate patterns related to the Inquisition stitched on it in yellow and red. It wrapped around her torso, leaving a large split from her hip down one side, and focused the attention on all her best features.

“So what did you do on your little vacation?” He pulled a grimace. “Talk?”

“Maker forbid. That would be boring for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Very. You’re already making me miss all the intrigue and liquor from inside, the least you can do is share something juicy.”

“Oh, don’t worry. As soon as we’ve thwarted another evil plan we can go get drunk.” She picked up her mask and fastened it around her head. “Maker knows I need it after this.”

He held out his arm to her and they made their way back inside. Her presence was noticed almost immediately and many heads turned towards them.

“Seriously though,” he said, looking across the ballroom. “What are you waiting for?”

She followed his gaze. Cullen hadn’t moved from his position, probably in no small amount due to the group still gathered around him. Even with the distance, she could tell from his stance that he was somewhere between annoyed and exasperated. His eyes met hers for a brief moment and he sighed visibly, a soft smile forming on his mouth, before nearly jumping as he snapped his head to the side to look at a man who seemed to have no concept of personal space.

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” she said slowly. “A lot happened recently and I just... want it to be right.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to face her, hardly able to contain his smirk. “Since when are you a romantic?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling inspired by all the tender love between you and Bull. What did you call him the other day? A heaving hunk of muscle?”

“It’s a nickname,” he shrugged. “Surely you have one for Commander Handsome.”

“Well, clearly I do now.”

“Come on,” he whined, halting outside the door leading to the Hall of Heroes. “Something must have happened while you were away.”

She chuckled and signaled to Varric and Bull to join them. “All right,” she said, turning back to him and looking up for a moment while she thought. “Under the full moon did he embrace me, his golden head aglow as if by magic,” she said, gesturing dramatically with her hands. “And through the night we talked in hushed voices of our love as we lay in the light of the Maker and his very touch made the air smell fresher and the stars shine brighter.”

Dorian pursed his lips and scowled at her, making her laugh.

“We made out,” she said simply. “Quite a lot. Though clothes remained on, plenty was fondled. He’s still very good at it and it was great.” She cocked her head to the side and smirked. “Is that enough for now?”

They were joined by the others and left the ballroom, heading down the stairs. “Oh, all right then,” he replied, giving her a sideways smile. “But you better come with something better soon.”

“I promise I will hurry this very important and emotional moment for your entertainment.”

“Good,” he said lightly and she joined him in his laughter.

They went silent the moment they stepped inside the servants’ quarters. Blood lined the floor and walls. What little fun the ball had been before then was gone in an instant.

 

By the time they made their way back to the ballroom, Remy’s mood had sunk even further than before. Naturally the Venatori would turn up, but she felt naive for not having expected everything else going that had nothing to do with Corypheus. She rolled her head to loosen up her neck, and raised a hand over her shoulder to ease a muscle she pulled while battling an idiot dressed like a clown. With a deep breath she straightened out her dress, which by now showed spots of blood on the hem, and pushed through the doors leading into the ballroom, only to be immediately intercepted by Duchess Florianne.

_“Everyone in the Winter Palace is alone, Inquisitor.”_

The words lingered in her mind and Remy could barely suppress the shudder that ran through her body as she walked up the stairs from the dance floor. The same feeling that had crept up her spine when she talked with Alexius had surfaced the moment the Duchess walked up to her, and nothing during the dance had made it go away. The woman had not blinked an eye as she pointed the finger at her brother for the planned assassination. While Remy knew all about sibling rivalry, she could not ever imagine ending up in a situation where she would turn on Carver in such a way. Every question the woman had asked her was steeped in hidden meanings, and when they parted Remy had no idea if she had passed the test she had just unwillingly taken.

Josephine quickly came up to her when she reached the upper level, her expression not at all mirroring how Remy felt. “You’ll be the talk of the court for months,” she exclaimed brightly. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“I think I’m set for a while,” she grunted. She could still feel Florianne’s touch on her hand and it didn’t make her eager to hold anyone else’s for the moment. If anything, it made her want to take a bath.

Leliana and Cullen joined them and she smiled at his disinterest in her dancing with a Grand Duchess as he rather focused on the chaos she’d found in the servants’ quarters. They discussed her findings and her eyes snapped to Leliana when she suddenly pitched the idea of letting the assassination succeed.

“You’re a frightening person sometimes,” she said flatly. Judging from her expression, the Nightingale seemed to take it as a compliment. Josephine was more shocked at the suggestion and, somewhat surprisingly, Cullen seemed perfectly fine with the notion.

“So now you want me to decide what’s best for Orlais?” she sighed, rubbing her forehead between her thumb and index finger. “Correct?”

“More than that,” he said tentatively. “Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas.”

“Thanks, that makes it much easier,” she smirked. They shared a small silence and she could see he was thinking as she was. _Wouldn’t have thought we’d be having this conversation a few years ago, would you?_

“All right,” she breathed. “I’ll see if I can find proof against Gaspard, but either way I say we stick with the plan and save the Empress if we can. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

They nodded and walked away to take their positions among the guests. Cullen paused briefly in passing, took her hand, and touched his forehead against hers. “Be careful out there,” he said softly.

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled, brushing her nose against his and noticing how effective the small gesture still was. “It’s you I’m worried about. You seem to have a following.”

He let out an annoyed groan. “It’s insufferable, they won’t leave me alone. I think one of them pinched me.”

She blinked. “What? Where?”

“Ugh,” he sighed. “Never mind.” He pulled away and smiled. “I look forward to when this is over.”

“You and me both,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “See you soon.”

 

Her dress was torn and stained with blood, yet the people did not seem to mind. By the time she returned from the garden where they’d chased Florianne, the dead and injured had already been removed from the ballroom and the party had continued as if nothing had happened. Every noble in attendance clung to her like a tick and it took her what felt like forever to fight her way out of the room and onto the balcony. Fortunately no one followed her and she quickly removed the upper layer of her costume, roughly tossing it to the side.

“The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?” She turned to find the dark haired mage coming towards her. Morrigan halted next to her, sizing her up. “Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? ‘Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf.”

“The Orlesian nobility is not what motivates my actions,” she replied. “Though I can’t keep them from enjoying the benefits, I have no inclination to share the moment with them.”

“Most interesting,” she smiled. “I have heard of you before you came here tonight of course, lady Hawke, and your actions. Quite a puzzle you make. Such low beginnings, yet all your actions seem to shake the world before you.”

Since she came down the stairs earlier in the evening, Remy had had the nagging idea that she'd met the mage before. Suddenly the connection she hadn’t been able to make earlier, snapped in place. “You are the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds,” she said slowly, angling her head as she stared at her.

The yellow eyes blinked. “That is hardly a secret. Leliana has informed you of my identity, I suppose?” she asked casually, though it seemed the fact Remy knew something about her that she hadn’t volunteered bugged her nonetheless.

“She hasn’t said much,” Remy replied, crossing her arms and leaning her back against the railing. “But I think I’ve met your mother.”

“My mother?” Now the witch seemed surprised in earnest. “Pray tell, what did dear mother want with you?”

“She saved my life from the darkspawn at the start of the Blight. Then she asked me to carry a piece of her in an amulet to an elven shrine outside of Kirkwall and rose from it.”

“Really?” she murmured, looking out over the garden. “I see.” She was silent for a moment while she seemed to contemplate the information, before turning back to her. “You have just become even more interesting than before, Inquisitor, and I am not quickly interested in other people. I look forward to seeing more of you when I get to Skyhold.”

“Skyhold?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations.”

Remy huffed a short laugh. Though she didn’t have the same happy charm, she offered her services with the same air of confidence as Dorian had at the time. “That should be interesting,” she replied. “I look forward to it, lady Morrigan.”

“As do I, Inquisitor. What else do you have in store for us, I wonder?” She smiled secretively and inclined her head, before going back inside.

Remy turned around and sighed, leaning her hands on the bannister. What time was it? Judging by the position of the moon it wasn’t far past midnight. A couple of hours since they’d arrived… it felt like an eternity. The party had hardly been the worst of the missions she’d been on since she joined the Inquisition, yet she felt more worn out from this one evening than several days of traveling around the country.

Down in the garden, she could see a few men moving around where she had fought the Duchess only a short while ago. The scene was quickly cleared up, just like the ballroom had been, any evidence that conflict had taken place removed. She stretched her neck from side to side, still feeling the muscle in her shoulder tug uncomfortably on the back of her head, and inhaled deeply. Again… and again. She counted her breath, trying to force the visions of the night from her mind, but couldn’t shake the nasty feeling in her chest.

“There you are.” A smile spread across her face at the sound of his voice, and Cullen appeared next to her soon after. “Everyone is looking for you,” he said, leaning on the balustrade as well. “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she smiled, wondering how convincing it sounded. “Everything went according to plan, more or less.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “We don’t get that often enough.” He continued to look at her, faint lines in his forehead from the furrow in his brow. “You’re not fine, are you?”

She huffed a short laugh at his serious expression. “No… not really.”

“Please don’t lie to me about that.”

There was an edge to his voice she had not expected. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by it… but I don’t want to worry you for no reason. I’m just gloomy, is all.”

“I understand,” he said, pushing up from the railing. “But that is what we’ve always done. I don’t want it to continue.”

She blinked, feeling slightly taken aback. _“Are you all right?”_ It should be a simple question to answer… but it wasn’t. Not to her. She’d never been a person who easily shared with others. For one, it wasn’t in her nature. She tended to quietly work through things on her own, until she managed to process and file them away. Second, she felt it would make her appear weak, something she couldn’t afford while she tried to take care of her family. And third… she’d experienced too often that she had trusted someone, and it had backfired. Even with someone like Varric, whom she knew would never betray her, she did not share everything. And it was only because of the circumstances under which they met that Dorian had become such a confidant. That, and his obsessive questions that made it hard to ignore him.

Now Cullen was looking at her with those amber eyes she knew so well, asking her to trust him. To share her doubts and worries, to no longer hide from him. Fear surrounded her heart like a vulture circling a prey… but she pushed it away. He was here, and he had been all along. He was not going to abandon her.

“Me neither,” she said, raising herself up to his level. “And I feel crap tonight.”

“All right,” he chuckled, holding out his arms. “Tell me why.”

She snuggled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body against the chilly spring night. “Look at them,” she said softly, nodding towards the ballroom.

He turned his head to follow her gaze, resting his cheek against her crown. Judging from the music and chatter drifting towards them, the party was in full swing. Several groups of guests lingered near the exit to the balcony, whispering excitedly as they glanced in their direction. No doubt she’d be mobbed the moment she stepped inside, everyone clamoring to catch a moment with the hero of the hour.

“I don’t know how many servants I had to step over when I turned this place inside out. Dead, no reason other than getting caught in the middle of the Great fucking Game.” She sighed and shook her head, focusing her eyes on the stitching of his uniform. “Not to mention the people we just lost. They’re all lying somewhere back there. And the party goes on and everyone inside will simply keep doing what they always do without a care for who gets hurt in the process.”

“I know,” he said quietly, gently squeezing her with his arms. “But think of the bigger picture. Tonight is still a victory against Corypheus.”

“Yeah...” she sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, we should savor these moments.” She didn’t believe the words when she spoke them, and they did nothing to lessen the sour feeling.

Cullen watched her a while longer, until he let go and stepped back. “I might have something that will cheer you up.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them to where she had cast off her dress, and she watched in surprise as he extended his hand to her and bowed. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Do my eyes deceive me?” she teased. “The Cullen I know does not dance, serah.”

“Well,” he smirked, “I thought I might finally try.”

She took his hand and positioned herself against him. Though his steps were a little uncertain and stiff, he easily took the lead, and they moved in unison across the balcony. Over time his body slowly relaxed and she pulled herself closer, while he let his hand slide from her waist to the small of her back.

“Not bad, Commander,” she murmured against his ear. “With how long you’ve kept me waiting, this could have been very anticlimactic.”

“I’m afraid that if I’d tried any sooner, you would no longer have toes.”

“I do appreciate my toes. Good thing you waited then.”

His soft laughter resonated in her chest and she felt the heavy feeling from the night gradually subside while his cheek lay against hers, his scruff softly grazing her skin. She let her fingers slowly rake through his hair, musing on the difference in texture from when it was shorter. It was smoother now, now longer tangling around and tying up her fingers. The hand that held hers was warm, as was his body while he kept her pressed against it. She sighed deeply, nuzzling his neck and breathing in his scent. Even if he had trampled her, he was the best dance partner she’d ever had.

Their rhythm slowed little by little, until they were simply standing still, holding each other close. She pulled back slightly to lay her forehead against his and and opened her eyes, admiring him for a moment, before glancing over to the ballroom. Josephine caught her eye from inside. The ambassador was talking to some lord that Remy had briefly met earlier in the evening and motioned urgently for them to come inside.

Cullen had followed her gaze and frowned slightly. “Do you want to go back in there?” he asked, inclining his head a fraction towards the palace.

“I really, really don’t,” she sighed, raising her head to look at him. “As my advisor, I suppose you have to tell me that I should anyway.”

“No,” he said, smiling. “That is what you have an ambassador for. As your military advisor I offer you two options. The first is, we go in together and make a show of force with our rugged Ferelden charm.” She laughed and he pulled up the corner of his mouth. “Or,” he continued softly, “we stay here for as long as you want and make a tactical retreat down the trellis when you want to leave.”

“Both plans have their merit,” she chuckled. “You want to be careful though. If you were worried about gossip in Skyhold, it’s a bit of a leap to have all of Thedas think we’re together.”

He brushed his nose against hers. “I’d be okay with that.”

“You would?”

“Yes.” He pulled away so he could fix her with his eyes. “You told me I have a choice to make. About what I want my future to look like.”

She blinked. For a moment she wondered if he was talking about the lyrium. He had seemed better, but she hadn’t actually asked him why. “I did. Have you?”

“I have.” He cupped her face in his hand, tracing his thumb across her cheek. “For years the only future I ever envisioned was with the Order. I don’t think I was aware of the options available to me, even after I’d left. And I might never have discovered them, if not for you.”

“You want to go play the field, right?” she smirked, realizing that he wasn’t talking about lyrium in the slightest. “Sow your wild oats?”

“I think I’ve sown plenty of those with you already,” he laughed. “Maybe now we can try to enjoy the harvest.”

“Commander,” she murmured, “you’ll make me swoon with such eloquence.”

“That’ll be the day,” he chuckled.

His lips found hers, a soft brush at first, but then catching them between them. His hand slid into the braiding that the other advisors had forced on her, causing several strands to fall loose around her face, while the other snaked further around her waist. She let her hands run over his arms, feeling his biceps flex as he pulled her against him, onto his shoulders and into his hair. A soft moan built in his chest and his hips pushed against hers, only stirred on more when she met his tongue with her own.

“If we continue this here,” she whispered, breaking away. “That would count as a wild oat.”

He let out a low groan and loosened his grip. “That probably isn’t a smart idea.”

“No,” she chuckled. “Probably not.”

“Well then…” he sighed, straightening himself up. “What about that battle plan?”

“Right,” she nodded, turning her attention to the ballroom.

Their kiss had not gone unnoticed. The masks could not hide the wild excitement in the eyes that were fixed on them. If she didn’t know better she would have thought herself paranoid, but she could see the gossip spread through the crowd as more and more heads turned towards the balcony. Where once those looks would have bothered her, now she couldn’t care less. “We never were ones for retreat, were we?” she asked, looking back at him. “Want to go make some Orlesian heads spin?”

The scar twitched with his smile. “I’d be happy to.”

She took his hand and squeezed it, before they walked inside and rejoined the party.

 

It was surprising how much more bearable the event was after that. She conversed with relative ease with the people in the room that wanted her attention and found that not all the guests were complete idiots. There were more than a few interested glances in her direction since now that she was only wearing the rather low cut, tight fitted, leather bodysuit, but for the moment it did not seem to make her or the Inquisition any less acceptable. She remained by Cullen’s side, whispering jokes and comments on the people around them in his ear, much like the first night she’d coaxed him out to the Hanged Man. He laughed and talked quietly with her, his fingers secretively tracing the small of her back and sending tingles up her spine.

Eventually Dorian came waltzing by, clearly having found the liquor they’d discussed earlier, and dragged her off to the dance floor. He moved with ease and confidence as he spun her around, and they danced their own version of whatever court approved routine was going on around them. Over time she even noticed some of the other guests loosen up their steps a little as well, and she thought to herself that, at the very least for all their effort, they’d managed to make the Orlesian court a bit more fun.

“This has been quite the evening,” he said, stepping in closer and putting his arm around her waist. “Can I please see you wrap an entire empire around your little finger more often?”

“Bring me an empire, and I’ll do my best.”

He slowed down their pace and observed her a moment, smiling gently. “You look happy.”

“That’s probably because I am.” She glanced at the upper level to catch Cullen’s eye, but he’d been swarmed again by a group of people and was blocked from view.

Dorian looked from her to the group and back. “Are you jealous?” he teased.

“Annoyed more. Just because we lust after him doesn’t make it okay for the rest of the world to do so. And apparently the Orlesian eligibles can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

His eyes sparked mischievously. “Want to do something about that?”

“Oh, yes please,” she grinned. “Follow my lead.”

They made their way up the stairs and towards the small crowd. Cullen was backed up against the wall, leaning as far away from the women surrounding him as he could without being too obviously impolite, but they ignored the clear signs of revulsion. From their age, Remy guessed they were not so much after him themselves, but had rather been trying to push the daughters on him that stood a little further away in dresses matching the colors of their own. They giggled and fluttered their eyelashes, though it wasn’t hard to see their efforts were anything but sincere.

“Well, Commander,” they heard one of them say. “I see you have a somewhat… provincial taste in women.”

“Quite,” another one agreed. “I suppose she could be considered attractive under the dirt and blood stains. They must be difficult to avoid in her line of work.”

She glanced at Dorian, pulling up an eyebrow, and he winked in response. The group chuckled and she saw Cullen scowl as he seemed to reach his boiling point. Before he could say something, she slid in between the people and stood next to him, Dorian following close behind her. “Oh, it is rather an ordeal, isn’t it?” she sighed dramatically, raising a hand to her forehead. “The upside is; mud is great for your complexion.”

“Indeed,” Dorian added, his eyes twinkling, “that is why we have such youthful radiance.” He gave the women his most dazzling smile. “You know, back home we take regular mud baths?”

“You don’t say?” she said in fake astonishment. “Dear ladies,” she continued, putting her arm around his shoulders, “have you met our friend? This is Dorian, our Tevinter magister necromancer.” She turned towards him. “Do you do blood magic too?”

“Only on special occasions,” he beamed.

“Well,” she said, returning her attention to the women. “Isn’t that exciting? Also, if anyone is in need of a dance partner, he is very quick on his feet.”

The women scurried away, dragging their daughters with them, while glancing over their shoulders and talking in hushed voices. They watched them go and she looked over to Dorian. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“For you, I’ll gladly exploit my infamy,” he smirked. “I’ll think of a way you can make it up to me.”

Cullen’s fingers touched between her shoulder blades and traced down her spine, and she turned to put her arms around his waist. “I don’t think Josephine would approve of that,” he said, though he was smiling.

“We didn’t say anything untoward, did we?” she asked innocently. “Even if we did, I think we can manage to save the world without their help.”

“Well,” Dorian sighed, looking at them fondly. “Isn’t this lovely? Though I am about ready to call it a night. What do you say?”

“Oh, I think so.” She turned towards Cullen. “You?”

“Yeah… Let’s get out of here.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked out of the ballroom, the other members of the Inquisition following suit. Everyone else might be alone in the Winter Palace… but none of them were.


	43. Coming Home

Though the distance between the Winter palace and Skyhold could be travelled within a couple of days on horseback, their journey back seemed to pass agonizingly slow. Cullen rode at the back of the convoy to keep an eye on their troops. Looking at them now, it was clear the mission had been taxing on them. While he had been inside with Remy and their inner circle, their people had had to lie in wait for most of the evening, hiding in corners and passages until they were needed. They had lost several of them and some more had been rather badly injured in the chaos when Remy chased the Duchess. Despite their victory, the general atmosphere wasn’t great.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one to notice. Further ahead, he saw Varric and Dorian ride up to Remy and she leaned on the neck of her gelding while they talked. When the path became steeper and started to wind and twist between the rocks, she turned her horse around and galloped to the back of the caravan, her eyes glancing over the soldiers. At the end she circled around and pulled up next to him.

“Hey,” she greeted, her expression still serious. “How are things back here?”

“We might need to slow down a bit, the wagons with the wounded won’t be able to traverse the mountains so quickly,” he replied, motioning towards the carts in question.

She followed his gaze and nodded. “How is morale?”

“It’s been better,” he sighed. If not for the moment they’d shared on the balcony, he’d probably come away from the ball feeling very similar. She turned back to him and suddenly there was a familiar spark in her eyes that usually spelled trouble. “What are you planning?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” she smirked, before planting her heels in Tempest’s sides and galloping off.

Her intentions became clear when he rode into Skyhold. She was already standing in the courtyard, talking to Leliana and Josephine with some of her companions around them. He dismounted and handed Greyback off to one of the stable boys so he could join them.

“It is most unusual,” Josephine said. “Isn’t it too early to throw a celebration?”

“Look, that ball sucked and we’ve been doing really great so far. I think our people deserve a night where we appreciate them for their efforts, don’t you?” Remy replied brightly. “I’m not asking you to invite the continent. This is something for the Inquisition, thrown by the Inquisition and for the Inquisition to enjoy.”

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked, halting next to her.

“We’re throwing a party,” she declared. “At the end of the week.”

“A party?” He blinked. “Corypheus is still out there, we need to plan our next move.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But while we figure that out, we might as well have some fun.” Dorian nodded in consent and Varric’s smirk widened even more than it had already been. “Nothing wrong with that, no?” she smiled, cocking her head to the side.

The matter seemed to be quickly decided after that. Josephine agreed to have food and drinks brought in from their suppliers and Remy took on the rest of the responsibilities herself. She made him promise to take the night off on the day of the party and in turn she wouldn’t bother him with the preparations. With a quick kiss on his cheek she turned away and ran off with her friends.

 

The news of the party quickly spread through the keep and though he kept himself busy with other things, Cullen was pleased to find the response to be as Remy had hoped. In the following days, their people were buzzing with excited anticipation while she busied herself with preparing the castle. Carts with supplies came rolling in throughout. Wagons full of hams, sausages, poultry, fruits and vegetables, as well as barrels of beer, from any merchant that was close by enough to deliver on such short notice. The kitchens were in full use, filling the courtyard with all types of mouthwatering smells, ranging from the sharp singe of roasted meat to the sweet scents of all manner of pies.

Remy was constantly on the move; helping out with preparations, finding out which of their members had hidden skills to provide entertainment with, and decorating the courtyard. Cullen watched her from the top of the wall. She was standing in the center of the grounds with Varric, checking things on a list he had in his hand. From what he gathered, the dwarf kept track of the bigger picture and assigned jobs to her companions. Though some were more involved in the preparations than others, most of them seemed to share her enthusiasm.

He looked at the report in his hand and sighed before making his way down the stairs. When he reached her, she was just pointing out to Cole where on the tavern to attach a string with paper lanterns. He ran his hand along the small of her back and felt a faint shudder run through her spine in response, before she turned around to kiss him.

“Hey you,” she murmured, looking at him through her lashes.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She looked up and he followed her gaze. “What do you think?”

Cole had attached the string to the roof and the lanterns were suspended above them, gently bouncing up and down. More of them hung across the courtyards, criss-crossing from wall to wall, mixed with lines of flags adorning the Inquisition’s symbol and other garlands.

“Very nice,” he replied, looking back at her.

She raised her eyebrow and pulled up the corner of her mouth, giving him a skeptical look. “What’s up?” she asked, turning away to point out directions to the people who were moving the tables from the mess hall into the yard.

“We have confirmation on Corypheus’ location,” he began, holding out Leliana’s report to her. “After Adamant he uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching to the Arbor Wilds. He has been ransacking elven ruins since Haven. Leliana believes —”

“Cullen.”

“What?”

“We’ve discussed this. After the weekend I will once again give Corypheus my full and undivided attention. Until then, I don’t want to hear about him.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “We have him on the defense, but it won’t stay like that if he finds whatever he’s looking for. If we don’t move fast, we could lose the advantage.”

She laughed at his undoubtedly annoyed expression, and watched him for a moment. Then she stepped towards him with a sigh and pulled him closer by his cloak. “Listen to me,” she said, fixing him with her eyes. “Just now I saw some Orlesian soldiers carry in a box. In the chaos it was almost carried into the kitchens with the rest of the supplies, but Varric caught it in time. Turns out it’s the remains of the Duchess and I have been asked to judge them.” She raised her eyebrows and paused for effect. “We are fighting an ancient darkspawn magister who wants to be a god, prevented the rise of an actual demon army, saved an Empress who ties soldiers to her bed, and now… I am judging a box. This world is officially insane.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head, while she moved closer and stroked the back of his hair.

“Let Corypheus run to the Arbor Wilds and lick his wounds,” she murmured. “The moment this party is over, I will be back to work and we’ll end him for good. But before that, we’re going to have one evening in which we do not concern ourselves with all of the crap out there. Our people deserve that much for their efforts, not to mention we do. I will not let him take that from us.”

He sighed and let his hands slide up over her hips. “All right,” he said, digging his fingers into her sides and dragging her towards him. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite all right,” she smirked. “Now go do important things while I decide on desserts.” She winked and turned away, and was soon joined by Dorian while the two quickly made their way to the kitchens.

 

Until the night of the party, Cullen had no trouble in keeping himself busy and found - to his relief - that the lyrium continued to only bug him in a minimal amount. Though his dreams were still there and the sudden pains far from gone, ever since he’d recovered from the time after Adamant his mind felt clearer than it had in a long while and he was once again able to concentrate properly on his work.

The Inquisition’s presence in the Western Approach was now firmly established, though they still battled with the wildlife, lingering Venatori, and harsh environment to keep it as such. In between managing the incoming reports Remy refused to look at, finding a use for the Orlesian volunteers that had started to join them since the ball, and his regular duties, he bent himself over what little charts there were of the Arbor Wilds in preparation for when they would chase Corypheus there. He could only speculate as to what the darkspawn was looking for, though whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good. Lady Morrigan seemed to have some sort of idea, but she remained insufferably cryptic until some item she was waiting for would arrive.

He barely saw Remy and whenever he did catch a glimpse of her, she was so caught up in her preparations that she only briefly greeted him before she got distracted by something else that needed her attention. As short as the moments were, he could feel her touch becoming more longing with every flighty embrace, each brush against his mouth, and the look she gave him whenever she turned away didn’t leave any room for misinterpretation. 

By the time she came to his office every evening however, she seemed to have no energy left to follow up on the silent promises she’d made him during the day. It was deep into the night whenever she came stumbling in, climbed up to the loft, and crashed into his bed. If he didn’t follow her up quickly, she was already gone, completely tired out from the day. A few hours later she was up early again to continue. Despite her being largely unconscious for the short time she was there, holding her in his arms still made all the difference in his nights, though he began to look forward to a time where she wouldn’t fall asleep quite as quickly.

The night of the party arrived in a flash, which Cullen noticed mainly by how increasingly distracted his men got during the meetings he called. During the final one of the day, they stood around his desk, reporting on current matters with their eyes continuously shifting towards the doors through which music and voices were clearly audible from the courtyard below. One of them had just finished relaying a report from Leliana’s scouts about a situation in the desert, though the lieutenant in question did not seem too concerned about the matter.

“Rylen’s men will monitor the situation,” Cullen grunted.

Her eyes quickly snapped back to him and she saluted. “Yes, ser. We’ll begin preparations at once.”

“In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to...” The door had opened and he glanced towards it. Remy was leaning against the wall, her eyebrow raised to the sky and wearing a skeptical smile. “... assist with the relief effort,” he finished slowly. He sighed and straightened himself up. “That’ll be all.”

The people around him could hardly contain the relief on their faces and they quickly made their way out the door. It wouldn’t have been the first time a meeting ran until late into the night and undoubtedly some of them had been fearing that was going to happen this time as well. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it. “There’s always something more, isn’t there?”

“Not for me,” she said lightly. “I think I’ve mastered the art of delegation quite well.”

“You delegate to me,” he smirked, giving her a sideways glance.

“One of my perks as Inquisitor,” she smiled smugly. “There has to be something to offset all the killing and judging and dressing up for Orlesians.”

He stood up straight and huffed a short laugh. “Throwing a party when you feel like it doesn’t count?”

“That’s not a perk, that’s just basic human rights.” She pushed away from the wall and walked across the room to lean on the edge of the desk. “Speaking of that party, it’s been going on for a while now. And you are not there, despite saying you would be,” she said, still with that teasing smile.

She was dressed casually, wearing a white shirt that was laced down the front and loosely tucked into her skin tight trousers. To his surprise, she’d kept the boots that were part of her outfit for the ball. They reached over her knees, digging ever so slightly in the soft flesh of her thighs at the top. Though she had looked amazing on the evening, it was also slightly intimidating to see her dressed up in that way. He preferred her like this; her long hair once again thrown into a careless braid, her face clear from the make-up the other advisors had made her wear.

Cullen walked over to her and ran his finger along the laces of one of the boots, tracing the edge at the top to the inside of her thigh. A muscle twitched under his touch and her eyes searched his face, but they fell closed when he pushed his hand further up. She sighed deeply, letting her head fall backwards, and he let his other hand slide behind her neck for support, leaning in to nuzzle her neck.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“Just giving you what you want,” he murmured, in between kissing the skin under her jaw. “You’ve been giving me looks all week.” He breathed in deeply. “You smell good.”

“I bathed,” she chuckled. “It’s quite amazing, the effect that has.”

She’d spread her legs and he continued to stroke her, pushing himself firmer between them. The desk shook and their heads snapped up when a bottle got knocked off the edge and smashed on the floor.

“Oops,” she said, teasingly. “Should we clean that up? I know how much you hate a mess.”

He exhaled a short chuckle, before pushing the rest of the contents off the desk. She bit her bottom lip, grinning widely, and hopped onto the surface, pulling him in by the edge of his chest plate.

He lay on top of her and she curved against him, following the movement of his hands across her body. The supple leather of the boots was smooth under his fingertips. He pushed her legs up until she wrapped them around his waist, and he felt himself pressing against her. One of her hands travelled down to arouse him further through the fabric of his trousers, while the other clawed into his hair. With a low groan he buried his face in her neck, sucking on the fragile skin, until she suddenly retracted and pulled his head up to look at her. “You’ll do anything to get out of going to a party, won’t you?” she smirked.

He sighed and let his head fall to her chest, feeling it gently shake under him with her laughter. “Come on,” she said, pushing him off her and swinging her legs off the desk. She straightened out her shirt, though she kept the laces further undone than they had been when she first came into the room. “A few hours,” she murmured, leaning into him, “and I’ll make it very much worth your while when we get back.”

 

Though it took him a while to truly shake the work - and less pure thoughts - from his mind, Cullen had to admit that the party was a great success. Though the whole castle had been in a frenzy trying to get everything ready on time, even he had felt that the atmosphere during the days leading up to the night had been amazing. Now that it was here, there was such a positivity in the air that it was impossible not to be affected by it.

Fortunately the weather worked in their favor and the sky above was perfectly clear. The lanterns shone brightly against the pitch black, bobbing up and down happily as if floating on water. The flags and banners fluttered in the wind, the Inquisition’s symbol shining in the glow of the dancing lights.

The courtyard was completely full. People from all walks of life were sitting at the long tables, enjoying the wide variety of food laid out in front of them. Where usually there was the sounds of swords striking against each other, the whinnying of horses, and idle exchanges between small groups of people, now there was music, laughter, and buzzing conversation. Remy had arranged it in a way that all the food was prepared in advance, so that the kitchen staff could join the party. Now they were talking with the soldiers and the refugees, the merchants and the construction workers, the blacksmiths and the stable boys. Mages and templars sat spread throughout, mingling with each other with ease. Even their current noble visitors had joined and sat among the other people, drinking and chatting, and clearly enjoying themselves.

She’d managed to find quite a few people with secret talents to perform over the course of the evening. Applause went up from the training ring when a young mage he’d only seen in passing before finished his routine, spewing out a large flame that morphed into a dragon and flew over the crowd before shooting up and exploding into a million sparks in the sky. He made way for a group of Leliana’s spies, who performed a mind-boggling stunt act mixed with knife throwing. The music was provided by several members of their army who were set up near the stairs, playing instruments some of which Cullen didn’t even know the names for.

Remy was in high spirits, chatting with him and her friends, as well as moving about the crowd and spending time among their people. While some of them seemed slightly uncomfortable by being so close to her, her easy manners quickly managed to make them feel more at ease. Though she did drink, he noticed she didn’t go as far as she had some other times. Throughout the night, whenever her eyes met his they were bright and alert, instead of clouded with the fog he’d seen in them before. It didn’t stop her from spending a lot of time giggling uncontrollably about Maker knows what with Dorian. At some point they sat on one of the tables together while he seemed to be pointing out some of the more noble guests to her and, judging by his expressions and gestures, he was harshly criticizing their outfits, much to her amusement.

Later in the night, her party joined the others playing music. Cullen watched her from a distance, unable to keep the smile from his face. She sang and danced around, smiling brightly and tapping a tambourine against her hip. Her hair swished back and forth over her shoulders as she turned and spun around, more strands quickly falling loose from the unkempt braid. For a moment she wasn’t the Herald, or the Inquisitor, but simply that same bashful refugee that targeted him all those years ago. Looking around, he noticed many of their people seemed to have their eyes upon her as well, all observing her with expressions of adoration and respect.

He was leaning back in his chair, nursing his glass in his lap and listening to Cassandra, who was drunkenly complaining about the process of becoming the next Divine, when something caught his attention on the opposite side of the grounds. Apparently it wasn't only him and their own people that Remy had been drawing attention from. She was chatting to a group of mages and a man was watching her intently from across the courtyard.

After a while he got up to approach her and she spent some time talking to him. He was tall and good looking, with slightly tanned skin, dark brown hair, and sharp features. Judging from his stance and build, Cullen guessed he was one of the Chevaliers that had joined them recently. She laughed at something he said and, in spite of himself, Cullen felt the sharp pang of jealousy in his gut. The man offered her his hand and she took it, allowing him to guide her to a clearing to dance.

They moved with grace, following the steps to a dance he recognized from the lessons each of them had received in preparation for the ball, but forgot the name of. Though it was perfectly civil, definitely a lot more so than when he'd watched her in the Hanged Man with Fenris, seeing someone else put his hand around her that wasn’t Varric or Dorian annoyed him nonetheless. More out of spite than thirst, he had his drink refilled and downed it faster than was clever, sending a hazy rush to his head. They continued to talk animatedly while they danced, and it took far too long for his liking for her to step back and move away.

The man followed her and she looked back, smiling politely, though her expression a little colder, or so Cullen thought. He considered going over there, but Dorian appeared next to her before he could even get up from his chair. The mage put his arm around her shoulders and flashed a dazzling smile, while she gestured and seemed to be explaining something. The man smiled and nodded before turning away. They waited until he was gone, but then were taken by another barely contained fit of laughter. She was wiping her eyes when they walked up to the table he was sitting at.

“I really think we’re not getting the most out of our arrangement, you know,” Dorian was saying. “Fending off unwanted suitors is all well and good, but we should consider going public. People get gifts when they get engaged, don’t they?”

“You need to get me a proper ring then,” she chuckled. “We’re not getting anything with me flashing this rusty nail around.”

“Woman, you wound me,” he said, clutching at his chest. “That rusty nail came from my heart.”

She plunked herself down next to Cullen and stuck out her tongue, to which the mage responded with a wink before walking off.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she grinned, her eyes closed. “Wanna go up though?”

He looked over to her companions. They were toasting a new round with several of the soldiers, including his second in command in Rylen’s absence. Judging by the way the usually reserved man had his arm around one of the other soldiers, Cullen guessed he wouldn’t be much use the next day. “Are you sure? The others still seem to want to go on a while.”

“Please, I see their mugs all the time. You, on the other hand, will disappear behind a pile of reports as soon as the night is over,” she smirked. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even have done all this and just hole up with you in that tower, but it was necessary for the people. I’m trying to be less selfish as Inquisitor.”

“This is you being unselfish?” he laughed.

“Of course,” she said, pulling a serious face. “I’ve matured you know. Fine wine and a good book, that’s my idea of a nice evening nowadays.”

“Josephine will be thrilled to hear that.”

“Well, let’s keep it to ourselves. I do have a reputation to uphold,” she winked. “Anyway, I think I’ve suffered enough. You know, for the troops. You coming?”

“Yeah,” he said, still chuckling. “Let’s go.”

 

They walked back up to his office, leaving the noise from the courtyard behind. She laughed softly as she told him of the conversations she’d had and the things she’d seen some of their people do that they would no doubt regret the next morning. He had his arm around her shoulder while she had hers wrapped around his waist, her body pressed close against him so he could shelter her from the sharp wind that blew strong over the wall.

When they walked the final stretch to the watchtower she halted, looked at him through her lashes, and tangled her fingers in his cloak to pull him towards her. Her lips found his and while it started out slow, her kiss quickly grew almost frenzied with her growing passion.

He pushed her backwards through the door, his hands already at work to undo the laces of her shirt and hers pulling on his cloak and belt. His fingers dug into her thighs when he pulled her up onto the desk, pushing against her while she rapidly undid the fastenings of his armor. He glanced to the side as his cuirass clattered loudly on the floor, wondering for a split second if it would leave a dent, but she tugged on his chin to turn his head back to her. “Leave it,” she smirked. “That’s an order.”

“Is that so?”

He grabbed her by her knees and flipped her on her back, quickly positioned himself over her, and took hold of her wrists, pinning them to the table over her head. Her eyes were fixed on his, the tip of her tongue traced across her lip, and her chest heaved with her breath. With his other hand he further unraveled the laces of her shirt, baring her torso.

Her journey into the Fade was etched into her skin. Some of the scars were thin and already fading, either a light pink or going towards white. With magic, some of those might melt into her skin completely in time, but other wounds had left marks far more permanent. They cut across her frame, jagged slashes that were carved into her silhouette. He traced them with his finger, following the lines in between the smooth skin as if they were routes on a map.

“Not quite the unsullied maiden you first met, huh?”

He looked up. Her expression was soft, though there was a hint of worry in her eyes. He released her wrists and lowered himself on top of her, stroking her hair back with both his hands. “You were never unsullied,” he whispered. “That is one of the things that makes you so irresistible.” The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smile and he pushed himself up to get off the desk.

She looked at him in surprise, but put her arms around his neck when he picked her up and lifted her off the table. As much as he loved her tall, curvy figure, it would have been a lot easier for his current plan if she was slightly more petite. He walked over to the ladder and stared at the upper level, contemplating his options. She followed his gaze and looked back. “Should I climb myself?” she asked, smirking.

“That might be better,” he mumbled, suddenly cursing the loft he’d never had a problem with before.

She chuckled softly and climbed up the ladder, while he followed behind, not letting her out of his sight. He seized her the moment he reached the attic, lifting her off the ground and carrying her over to the bed.

One by one, he undid the many laces on the tall boots and pulled them off her, rid her of her trousers, and removed her shirt. He lay himself against her naked body, tracing up and down her skin with his hands, admiring each curve and every blemish.

He moved his lips across her, lingering on all the spots he knew she liked and he had missed so sorely. The patch of skin under her ear, under the line of her jaw, her collarbone, her nipples; slowly moving down until he was between her legs and caressed her with his tongue. She gasped and moaned, clutching at the sheets with her hands and curving her back, making her breasts stand out and shake with every shudder he drew from her. At times she tried to pull away, while a moment later she would push her hips against him, hungry for more. He held her in place, the tips of his fingers boring deep into her flesh, enjoying the fact that he could take his time, and not releasing her until he felt certain that she was satiated.

Eventually he made his way back up and kissed her, the different tastes of her body mixing together. She continued to shudder, her eyes half closed and hazy, that blissful look of tired satisfaction that he’d always tried to draw from her since the first time he succeeded in doing so. “Where ever did you get this good?” she sighed.

“I suppose you must have taught me,” he murmured, stroking his nose against hers. “It’s not part of templar training, I assure you.”

“No,” she laughed breathily. “I didn’t think so. But I take no credit for this, it’s all you.”

Her legs wrapped themselves around him and she rolled them over, pulling him up with her by his shoulders to sit astride him in his lap. He let his head hang back when she slid her hand behind it, giving in to her as she slowly began to kiss his neck. A low moan built in his chest and his breath grew shallow, while his fingers grabbed on to her hips. He pushed and pulled them against his own in sync with his breath, her wetness slowly soaking into his trousers, her muscles twitching in response to the friction.

She nipped and sucked, her teeth scraping over his skin, while her hands travelled down and tugged on his shirt. She broke away from him for a moment to pull it over his head, before returning with renewed passion, her nails dragging over his back and into his hair, her tongue playing against his own.

He let his hand slide up into her hair, gently pulling her back, and she looked at him with her eyes half closed, her lips slightly parted. “Something wrong?” she asked softly.

“No.” He ran his thumb across her lip and cupped her face in his hand. She rubbed her cheek against his palm, keeping her eyes fixed on him. “It’s just... still hard to believe that you’re here.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smile. “Even better,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, “this time I can stay.”

He embraced her and flipped her on her back, feeling her grin against his cheek. Her chest lifted up from the mattress when he buried his face in her neck and sucked the skin between his teeth, pressing her breasts against his chest. It only took a moment for her to start making the small sounds, somewhere between gasps and squeals, he so loved to listen to. He rolled his hips against her and felt her pulse in response.

Pressing up slightly, he rid himself of his breeches and slowly pushed in. The moment he did, she seemed to suck him in, tensing around him with every beat of her heart. As he began to move, bracing himself against the bed, he fought the urge to close his eyes, intent on watching her while she lay under him.

Her eyes fluttered open and closed, connecting with him for a brief moment in between shutting tightly, her brow knotting into a frown. She was biting down on her bottom lip, something she’d started doing after they almost got caught one time because she couldn’t keep her voice down. Her back curved with every thrust, stretching her skin and the scars that adorned it, while her hands clawed at the sheets, dragging them up with them. Her hair had largely come undone and lay in a tangle around her head, strands sticking to her face from sweat. Her lip was red and slightly swollen from how hard she was biting it. She was messy, damaged, flawed... beautiful.

As his mind lost control over his body, he lowered himself down and pushed her hands up over her head. Her fingers laced themselves in between his own and she gripped onto him with force, her eyes snapping open and locking him in their gaze. His hips moved on their own, steadfastly increasing the speed with which they pulsed against her pelvis. Her breath came out in short labored gasps with every beat and was hot on his face. Its smell was sweet, with a hint of alcohol.

Her eyes darted between his, asking for permission, and he pressed his forehead against her in response. Her legs tensed around his waist and with a sharp tug she forced him deeper inside of her, unlocking something from deep within under a desperate moan. The Veil rippled around them, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a drop of rain, sending out slow circles that gradually expanded around them. Though there was no lyrium in his system left to respond to her, his skin still seemed to writhe wherever they touched. He could feel the faint stirrings behind the curtain, but they didn’t worry him. As she fell deeper into the haze of lust and desire, he became enveloped in the cascading flow that seemed to emanate from her very core; enhancing every sound, every smell, and every touch as it affected the very air surrounding them.

The pressure built in his body, a raging fire that clouded his mind and overtook his senses. Her lips found his when he came, locking him in and muffling his voice. As his hips slowly came to a halt and his heartbeat steadied, she continued to kiss him, untangling her hands and wrapping her arms around him instead. He stayed on top of her for a long while after, taking her in his embrace and remaining inside of her, kissing, stroking, and talking softly, and for the first time having the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t going to leave.

 

The air that came in through the gap in the roof was cold on their bare skin. She lay against him, her legs tangled with his own, and pulled the blanket up to cover them. He held her tightly in his arms, breathing in the smell of her hair while he kept his face pressed against her crown.

“Did that make up for the horrible evening of fun I forced on you?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Almost. You still have to make up for making me jealous.”

“Jealous?” she scoffed, pushing herself up from his chest. “How?”

“That guy you were dancing with,” he smirked, stroking her hair back. “He seemed about ready to take you home. I almost challenged him to a duel.”

She laughed brightly and shook her head. “That would have been interesting. Though promise me this; the day I am desperate enough to go for a man wearing heels, please just kill me.”

“Was he?” He’d been more preoccupied with where he had put his hands than what he wore on his feet.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded. “I think he would’ve been a foot shorter than me if he hadn’t been.”

“Not your type then?” Cullen laughed.

“No,” she sighed, smiling gently. “Nothing for you to worry about.” She pushed herself up and lay on top of him, pressing her frame against his own and stroking the sides of his face. “In the end I just like my men the way I like my beer,” she murmured. “Tall, blond and Ferelden.”


	44. What Pride Had Wrought

“Did Blackwall ever get his smallclothes back?”

“Leliana pinned them to the notice board. I think he found them eventually.”

Dorian chuckled brightly, the sound bringing a soft relief against the clatter of swords and the sounds of explosions that were coming from the woods in front of them.

They were standing at the edge of the camp, looking out over the Arbor Wilds. Remy stared intently down the entrance to the forest, waiting for the signal. The moment the path was clear enough, Cullen would send word from the front of the lines and she and her party could make their run to the temple. As much faith as she had in his combat skills, it had become a rather hefty discussion when he told her he'd be part of the vanguard while she had to stay behind.

 

“Maker’s ass, you’re being insufferable!”

He’d glared at her from across the desk. “You need to get to that mirror,” he’d told her. “It is my job to make sure you get there before Corypheus does _and_ in one piece!”

“If you think I’m going to hang out and sip tea with the Empress in camp while you’re at the front, you’re insane," she’d snapped.

“This is how it has to be! While at Adamant we needed a small group to move in so we could get a foothold, here we need to break through _all_ of Corypheus’ remaining forces. It is too dangerous for you to be at the front and I can’t lead our army from the sidelines!”

She’d hissed and turned away to leave, when he called from behind.

“Wait.”

He’d been upon her before she had fully turned around, pushed her against the door, and kissed her with an overwhelming passion. His hands had run over her body, embracing her with something close to desperation. She’d nearly melted on the spot when his hand ran into her hair and he pushed his tongue to meet hers.

“What was that?” she’d asked as he pulled away.

“I’m not letting you leave while we’re fighting.”

“I meant when I’m going out into the field. I’m not going to fall off the wall when I leave your office.”

“I’d rather not take that risk.”

He’d stared at her a moment longer before he kissed her again, turned them around, and pushed her back across the office and onto his desk. No doubt it would have made for some great sex, had it not been for a messenger walking in on them several moments later.

 

“Any word?” Varric asked, coming up from behind them, Bianca at the ready.

“Not yet,” she murmured, her eyes flitting across what little of the forest they could see.

A moment later, something came crashing through the bushes and she snapped her head towards the sound. It wasn’t the signal they’d been waiting for, but one of their soldiers, dragging another with her that hung slumped against her shoulder. Remy jumped down from the ledge and ran to meet them. The woman collapsed at her feet, releasing her comrade. The man rolled into his back and to her shock Remy saw the left side of his face was covered in red crystal.

“Behemoth got him, Inquisitor,” the woman gasped, clutching her side. “Beast shot some kind of red energy beam at us.”

“How far have we advanced?” Remy asked her, while she examined the man’s face.

“Last I heard, our forces were nearing the entrance to the temple, my lady. But the red templars have gathered there, fighting harder than ever with their master nearby. And there are... other things in the forest.”

“All right. Can you take him to the infirmary?”

The soldier nodded and got to her feet, hoisting the man up on her shoulder once again. Remy’s party gathered around her, Morrigan trailing behind them like a shadow, and they watched the woman slowly make her way into the camp.

“Screw the signal,” she grunted. “We’re going in.” The others followed closely behind when she turned and ran into the forest.

For the first mile or two they hardly encountered any enemies, but the evidence of the battle was clear. Bodies lined the banks, slow swirls of blood staining the water of the river a deep red. Remy swallowed as she recognized some faces among their fallen soldiers, but quickly forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

The deeper into the forest they went, the thicker the air of magic became and the louder the noises of combat grew, until they reached the tail of their army. Stalking her way over a large, twisted tree root as thick as a horse’s rump, she spotted a handful of their soldiers engaging a group of disfigured templars.

They stood in the river, water swirling around with their movement while they exchanged blows and parries. They seemed to be at a standstill, both the monsters and their people taking turns in attempting attacks, but neither party gaining much of an advantage over the other. Looking further down the river, she saw more small groups of soldiers engaged in concentrated fights with red templars of different varieties. It seemed their opponent was not so much bent on destroying them, but rather delaying them until their master could get to his destination. To her surprise, she also recognized the blue and white of the Grey Warden armor. Apparently they had not all been at Adamant.

She signaled to Bull, who received her gesture with an excited glint flashing across his eyes. He charged in, letting out a booming war cry that startled some of the Inquisition’s soldiers that he was approaching, before relief broke across their faces. Remy huffed a short laugh herself and quickly joined the others in covering the reckless warrior as he engaged the walking piles of lyrium.

The only warning she had was a whisper, a hushed breeze that brushed past her and resonated with the ends of the hairs on her arm. She leapt away, only narrowly dodging the dagger that flashed into existence behind her, and struck on instinct, freezing the elf that had materialized out of thin air.

His armor was unlike any she’d seen and his skin was tinted green. Something about the figure brimmed with magic and for a moment she stood still as a statue, wondering what this being was. He was no regular Dalish, nor was he of the Fade. Her best guess was he lay somewhere in between, something ancient and powerful with a deep connection to magic.

Her spell wore off and for a moment they looked at each other, before he charged in. She blocked the flurry of daggers slashing at her, unable to prevent several deep cuts from slicing through her bracers. Suddenly the elf froze, staring at her, and dropped his weapons to clutch at his stomach. Remy shielded her face with her arms and turned away, while the assassin began to glow with dark energy and exploded in front of her by Dorian’s necromancy spell.

“You’re disgusting,” she told the mage, brushing off the mist that the blast had left on her armor.

“And you love it,” he smirked back.

“I do,” she sighed. “What was that, do you think?”

It was Morrigan who answered. “It is impossible to say at this moment. A Dalish clan that has lived here perhaps, separated from the rest of the world? Or something much older.” She came closer, stretching her neck. The witch had surprised them by morphing into a wolf midway through the fight. Remy saw the feral glow slowly fade from her eyes as she changed back into her human form. It was a rare talent among mages, though with a mother who could change into a dragon, she might have guessed Morrigan possessed it. “You sense the magic crackling, don’t you?” the witch continued. “Something more powerful than the red templars stirs here.”

Remy did feel it, but she had no patience for it. “Let’s hope it kills some of them for us.” She performed a quick check on the soldiers and healed some injuries, before pressing on through the river.

They crossed under the remnants of an old bridge that spanned across the water, at last reaching the thick of the battle. Her eyes scanned the scene ahead, noticing a staircase leading through the trees on the other side of the field, lined with old statues. The temple was close by.

The rest of her circle and the bulk of their forces were engaging the templars and remaining Wardens, and were quickly aided by the soldiers they’d encountered along the way that now rushed past her to join the fight. Several behemoths were scattered among the chaos and it was clear these brutes were giving their people the most trouble. Red lyrium sprung up from the water without warning and red lightning shot through the air, more crystals materializing on whatever surface it hit.

She watched another soldier get hit by a ray in the shoulder. The man screamed, falling to his knees and clutching his arm that rapidly became infected and grew more red, pulsing rocks. The monster continued to advance on him and he stared up at it, his eyes wide with fear. It raised its misshapen arm and brought it down for the killing blow, but found metal instead.

Cullen had stepped out from the fray, raising his shield overhead to block the blow, his face twisted with anger and determination. With a quick move he pushed back on the crystal arm to give himself an opening and cut low with his sword, slicing through the creature’s leg and causing it to momentarily retreat.

“What do we do, boss?” Bull asked her, his eyes flitting across the field.

“We need to get to that temple,” Morrigan insisted. “If Corypheus is not here, chances are he is already up there. We can’t afford to waste time.”

Cullen had disappeared again within the confusion, while the behemoth was engaged by another group. Remy took a deep breath. “Help who you can, but stay close. Our goal is that staircase.”

They forced their way through, Remy and Dorian trying to support their people with healing and barriers, while Varric and Bull attempted to take down as many of their adversaries as they could in passing. They’d nearly reached the staircase when the behemoth stepped out in front of them and blocked the way. It was towering over them, at least a couple of feet taller than even Bull, and much larger than the one that had bested her at Haven. Cullen’s sword had left a long gash along its upper thigh, but it didn’t seem troubled by it. Red crystals had already grown from within, sharp and pointy like teeth.

A quick glance among her party was all that was needed. Bull charged in, while Varric’s bolts distracted the creature and pinned its arm against another gnarly tree trunk twisting behind it. Dorian and she combined their skills, raising the water from the river into a swirling torrent that surrounded the templar and fixed it in place when they chilled it. They didn’t manage to freeze it thoroughly and the ice began to crack almost instantly as it tried to force its way out, but it gave Bull the necessary opening. He leapt and brought down his axe with an earth-shattering blow, cleaving through the caving ice and straight into the beast’s skull. The weapon got lodged between the crystals and the warrior was thrown to the side when the monster violently shook its upper body, its legs still stuck in the mound of ice.

It did not seem bent on dying quite yet, despite the iron jammed into its head. It attacked at random, shooting lightning from its free hand, its eyes glowing hot. She and Dorian had to jump away to avoid a blast and another one quickly came her way again. Before she had a chance to pull up a barrier, a shadow stepped out in front of her. A strange ripping sound was heard when the energy beam skidded across the metal and lyrium instantly grew where it had touched. Cullen’s sword arm was firm around her waist, his body twisted away from her as he covered them both with his shield.

“You couldn’t possibly be here already,” he growled. “I only sent the signal a few minutes ago.”

“I guess I just couldn’t keep away from you,” she smirked.

He released her and they turned their attention to the creature still shrieking with Bull’s axe sticking out of its head. With a nod and a gesture the plan was clear. They drew its attention away with ranged attacks, while Cullen advanced on it with Bull. The Qunari grabbed a hold of his weapon, turning their enemy’s head towards him, and Cullen engaged the arm that was still shooting blindly. With a horrible crunching noise the axe was freed and Bull quickly followed up with another blow to the templar’s neck.

“Go!” Cullen called, as more soldiers joined their struggle. “Get to that temple! We’ll hold them off here.”

Remy had to mentally slap away the urge to disobey him, seeing a beam of red only narrowly miss his head, and pulled herself away. She ran past the thrashing monster and up the stairs, her companions following suit, doing her best to force him from her mind.

 

The forest opened up, revealing a long bridge spanning a deep chasm. They crouched at the edge of the platform, the sun streaming down upon them, and observed the scene happening on the cliff below. Corypheus loomed in front, energy swirling around him, engaging more of the strange elves they had encountered before. Guardians of the temple apparently, and they seemed to be as much his enemy as they were theirs.

“Na melana sur, banallen!”

“They still think to fight us, Master.” Samson’s voice crawled under her skin like ants and she felt her fingers tighten around her staff.

They watched the darkspawn taunt the sentinels, his arrogance reaching new heights. He spoke of a Well, which Morrigan let her know with a shrug that she didn’t know anything about. Remy sighed and rolled her eyes. _Wonderful._

The standoff below quickly escalated, blowing up parts of the bridge and Corypheus with it when he attempted to force his way through the ancient defenses. They made their way down and she only just saw Samson fixing her with his eyes from across the bridge, grinning at her with glee. She moved to chase him, when a ripple in the Veil made her stop dead in her tracks. They turned around and her eyes grew wide at what she saw.

One of the Warden’s bodies shook and coiled, its limbs moving in ways that they shouldn’t physically be able to. He rose to his feet, rapidly becoming enveloped in a billowing, black smoke that spread a stench of death and decay, making her raise her arm to cover her nose. The shape morphed and twisted as it grew taller and taller, until eventually the silhouette was unmistakable.

“Run!”

They sprinted across the bridge, a piercing shriek and the beating of giant wings announcing the arrival of the dragon behind them. The growing heat on the back of her neck told her the beast was closing in fast, while the Veil warped around them, pulling on her core. Bull came up from behind her, having grabbed Varric by the back of his belt, and unceremoniously hurled the dwarf into the temple. The moment the rest of them were inside, he threw his weight against one of the doors, while she and the others pushed against the other. A flash of fire spilled through the gap, until the massive stone slabs closed with a deafening thud.

Remy immediately turned and began to make her way through the overgrown courtyard they found themselves in, only half hearing Morrigan’s ideas on Corypheus’ resurrection. “We’ll theorize about his immortality later,” she grunted, turning around when she reached a platform. “We need to get to this Well before his people do.”

She turned and took another step, but froze when the stone surface lit up under her touch. The magic was of the same source as the one she had felt around the elves, but much more concentrated. It made her uneasy to stand on top of such a power and for a moment she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Morrigan made her way up to the platform as well and looked with interest at the wall in front of them, mumbling to herself as she translated the ancient text.

“It mentions the Well,” she said, her eyes continuing to drift over the markings. “Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry.”

“Do you think those templars are going to curtsy before going in?” Remy replied sharply.

“They may force their way through like blundering idiots,” the witch retorted, anger flaring in her eyes, “but that doesn’t mean we should.”

Remy threw her head back and groaned. “Fine. So I walk across this thing?”

“That would seem to be the goal, yes.”

She quickly paced across the surface, her mind not at all on paying obeisance, but rather on their people still fighting in the forest. The stones lit up one by one, and a surge of energy made its way to the far end of the courtyard as soon as the last one activated, lighting up a door with the same magic as the stones.

The second they stepped through the gate, she was proven right in her assumption that Samson cared even less for the rituals than she did. An explosion rang in their ears and they watched parts of the old stone floor fly up into the air. The templar glared at her, the same sick smirk still on his face. She made to run after him, but was swarmed by templars the moment she stepped into the open space, and all she could do was groan in frustration while he jumped down and they engaged his men. The moment the last one went down she sprinted across the plaza, ready to leap after him, when Morrigan called out.

“Hold!”

Remy looked down the hole where the templars had already disappeared from view, but turned around. “What?”

“A moment,” the witch said, coming to a halt next to her. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.” She motioned towards one of the doors. “We should walk the petitioner’s path, as before.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I assure you, I am not,” she said, her sharp eyebrows drawing down.

“Are you forgetting all those soldiers dying out there?” Bull said in his low rumble, gesturing in the direction they’d come from.

“The path is a sure way to where we want to go. If we can avoid angering the magic that lingers here, we should,” the witch said, crossing her arms.

A long silence fell while they stared at each other.

“Don’t get stupid, Hawke,” Varric said from behind.

“Ugh!” She cast one last look down the hole and sharply turned away in search of the next ritual.

 

“This is retarded.”

Remy quickly walked across the third set of ornate panels, lighting them with her presence. The magic in the air was dense and the stones crackled underneath with enchantments so old they seemed to have trouble waking up. In any other situation she might have been more receptive to the ancient temple, but knowing Samson was brute forcing his way through towards the Well and their people - Cullen among them - were still outside, made her far too unwilling to care.

“These are ancient rituals,” Morrigan said, staring at her with her eyebrow raised. “Who knows of the people who have walked this path before you.”

“You can save your breath, dear,” Dorian murmured, studying a mural on one of the walls. “She doesn’t care.”

Remy jumped off the platform, feeling the energy surge to the door. “Done. Let’s go.”

When they walked into the massive chamber it was hard not to be a little impressed, even with her annoyance having risen to dangerously high levels. The hall was in surprisingly good condition. Strangely, the torches and fires were lit, casting dancing shadows over the walls that were covered in elaborately painted patterns and detailed carvings. Remy glanced around, and when they reached the center of the chamber a soft rushing from behind told her the elves had returned. Another one stepped out of the shadows on the platform above, eying them suspiciously.

Morrigan cast her a triumphant look as Abelas, as the elf had called himself, offered them an alliance in return for her having followed the rituals, only to disappear in a crackle of smoke a moment late. A raven appeared from the mist, and the witch chased down the elf intent on destroying the Well. With a dozen arrows still pointed at their backs, Remy hissed, before following the guide they had been assigned through the temple.

The woman - she guessed it was a woman, it was hard to tell with these sentinels - made her way through the old corridors and chambers at an agonizingly leisurely pace. Remy’s eyes kept flitting back and forth, trying hard to keep her temper in check, all the while catching glimpses of the fighting that was going on outside of their shortcut. At least the elves seemed to be holding off the templars while they ambled their way through. Maker, the stubborn Druffalo in the Hinterlands had moved faster than this.

At last they exited the temple into an overgrown courtyard. Remy blinked against the sun and scoured the grounds, holding a hand above her eyes to block the light.

“You tough bastards,” Samson called. He was standing below with some of the with lyrium overgrown templars. “A day’s march, hours of fighting, and still fierce as dragons.” She raised her eyebrow at the pride in his voice. “The Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.”

“Shame they all look like failed dwarven art projects,” she said casually, vaulting over the railing and smoothly landing on the stone floor below. “Once they all die a slow and painful death, I’m sure they’ll make lovely garden statues.”

“Samson, ser,” one of them called when she straightened herself up and walked towards them. “Watch out!”

“Remy Hawke,” Samson said, spreading his arms and flashing a grin that made her skin crawl. “The Champion of Kirkwall!”

“Samson.” She came to a halt, resting a hand on her hip. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” he simpered. “How have you enjoyed chasing my tail all across Thedas? Rumor always had it that it’s a favorite pastime of you.”

“Oh, it’s been fun,” she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “And now I’m going to take you home. I’ve got my chains all ready in a lovely cell under Skyhold with your name on it.”

“Tempting,” he laughed. “But I have other plans, I’m afraid.” He stepped closer, practically flaunting his armor at her. “Corypheus chose me twice,” he said, grinning like a maniac. “First as his general, now as the Vessel for the Well of Sorrows.”

“So glad you found someone to massage your fragile ego,” she said dryly.

“I bet you’d know all about massaging egos.” He leered at her, his head angled at almost ninety degrees. “You know, I should thank you before I kill you. It was much easier to approach my brothers and show them the new way after being reinstated.”

A muscle twitched in the corner of her eye. “You’re not putting this on me.”

“Oh, really?” he said softly, a gleeful smile playing around his mouth and stepping in even closer. “On who should I put it? Maybe Knight-Captain Cullen? Meredith never wanted me back in, but she listened to him. And he listened to you.”

Her hand shot up in a reflex, pointing her staff straight at his throat. “Don’t speak his name.” The low, icy snarl was hardly recognizable as her own voice.

“Ah.” His voice was almost a whisper and his eyes widened for a moment. “It was true then? There were rumors of course, but I didn’t think he had it in him. Fitting. They kick me out, but Golden Boy Cullen gets to play the hero while fucking an apostate.” His laughter was like nails scratching on a chalkboard. “Isn’t the Chantry wonderful?”

She was on him in a flash. He got thrown off balance when she hooked his leg from under him with her staff, and knocked to the ground by her mind blast hitting him simultaneously. She forced him down with one hand on his neck, her staff pointed at his face and the crystal on his chest pressing sharply in her knee. Varric’s crossbow clicked behind her, Bull’s heavy feet slid into his battle stance, and the Veil twitched in anticipation of Dorian’s spell. The remaining templars also stirred, but Samson held up his hand, staring her down.

“You do not,” she growled, her face close to his, “get to speak his name.”

“Feisty,” he hissed. “Can he handle that?” He slid a hand up her thigh, but she refused to flinch.

The whispers coming from the armor slowly intensified and she felt the energy surge underneath her, dampening her magic. His eyes crackled with lightning as he drew on the power of the lyrium, his mouth curling into a twisted smirk. “This is the strength the Chantry tried to bind,” he breathed, the grooves in the metal starting to glow a bright red. She retreated slightly, moving her knee off the crystal when it began to pulse like a heart. “But it’s a new world now. With a new god.” He pulled himself up to follow her movement, keeping his face close to hers and pressing his neck harder against the tip of her staff. “So, Inquisitor,” he whispered, licking his lips. “How will this go?”

She huffed a short laugh. “Oh, Samson,” she smiled sweetly. “You should have studied your Threnodies better.” She reached into her pouch and pulled Dagna’s rune from it, holding it up to his face. “Pride is never a good thing.”

The rune surged in response to the lyrium and she felt the power sapping from the armor and flowing into the stone. Samson’s eyes grew wide and looked frantically from her to the rune and back. “No! What are you —” He let out a harrowing scream and she backed away, taking her position between her friends while holding on to the disc in her hand, feeling the voices being sucked in and getting trapped underneath the surface. Samon sputtered and writhed on the ground, the weight of his armor suddenly seeming too much to bear. “What did you do?” he gasped, his breath labored. _“What did you do?”_

Finally he managed to push himself up to a standing position and he stood on shaking knees, looking at his armor. It had gone out like a candle, the crystal on his chest no more than a dull piece of glass. “My armor,” he groaned. “It’s gone. The lyrium - I _need_ it!” He snapped his head up to look at her, his face contorted with rage. “Kill them all!”

“Finally,” Bull grunted, and he charged past her, throwing himself into the fight under the cover of their ranged attacks.

 

Remy felt every hair on her body stand on end as they stood at the edge of the Well. The power coming from the water was immense, drawing anyone towards it that came in its vicinity. She glanced over to Morrigan, who seemed transfixed on the pool, the reflections of the water shimmering in her eyes and tinting her white skin a subtle blue.

“I did not expect the Well to feel so... hungry,” she said softly, not taking her eyes off it.

It was true. The Well was calling out to them, eager to share the wisdom that it held and assimilate whatever could be added to it. It reminded her of the red lyrium in the Deep Roads, though its intentions had felt more malignant. Still, she did not feel inclined to trust anything without a mouth that sung a song this loud.

“This thing is trouble,” she said, fixing Morrigan with her stare.

“I do not expect you to understand,” she said sharply. “You have shown no interest in the ancient magic and knowledge here. But even you must know that this power cannot land in the hands of Corypheus.”

“I am a bit busy with what is happening in this day and age,” Remy snapped back. “But yes, we can agree on that last part. You, however, could stand to be a bit more careful before binding yourself to an unknown being. Do you not hear those voices?”

The witch turned back to the well. “Yes... I do. I am however willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

Remy searched her face, but Morrigan was as impossible to read as her mother had been. Apparently crypticness and veiled intentions were passed on through the generations. The witch looked back at her and met her gaze, her eyebrows drawing down into an annoyed frown.

“If you do not trust me,” she said indignantly, “you do have the option of using the Well yourself.”

“I am not touching that thing with a ten-foot pole,” she replied simply, keeping her eyes locked on the yellow ones before her. “I have plans that don’t involve following the whims of an ancient Elven god.”

“Then let me drink!”

Remy inhaled deeply and glanced at her friends. Iron Bull was staring at the Well as if it were a demon trying to possess him, while Dorian shrugged, and Varric simply looked mystified. “Very well,” she said, turning back to Morrigan and inclining her head to her. “It’s yours.”

She didn’t know if it was the right decision to let anyone have the power that lay in the Well, nor would she find out if it was any time soon. But as soon as Morrigan submerged herself in the water, she knew she wouldn’t regret her choice of staying out of it herself.

The voices in the Well grew louder, shouting from across time and space, clamoring to latch on to the unfamiliar presence amongst them; like guests gushing over a new arrival at a party where everyone already knows each other and has heard each other’s stories a million times before. The power drew towards her until it seemed to reach a breaking point, the resulting shockwave expelling the water from its basin and knocking Remy and her friends off their feet.

They gathered around the witch lying in the center of the emptied pool, their armor dripping on the wet stone floor. She only had a moment to collect herself, all the while muttering phrases in Elvish, before a dark smoke rose up from between the stones, crackling with energy. Corypheus appeared on the other side of the courtyard, his face twisting with fury when he saw them. His roar echoed against the old walls and he rose into the air, rapidly moving towards them.

“Go!” Remy yelled.

She pulled Morrigan up by her arm and one by one her companions jumped through the Eluvian. She closed the line, throwing one last look at the darkspawn, his image becoming blurred by the water that rose up from the empty well, spinning and swirling around a ghostly figure that appeared in its midst. She stood frozen for a moment, before she leapt through the glowing surface herself and heard the glass shatter behind her.

They ran through the Crossroads, the remnants of broken mirrors a blur in her vision as she pelted towards the one that would bring them back to Skyhold. She didn’t stop when she went through and found herself in the familiar keep. Instead, she kept running - past her friends, through the corridors, and straight up the winding stairs towards the rookery, knocking over several servants on her way - to send word to Cullen.


	45. A Shared Burden

The main hall was empty when Cullen stepped inside and completely dark, except for the moonlight shining through the grand windows at the back. The Inquisitor’s throne stood in the center, black against the light that came in from behind. In it lay Remy, angled to the side with her legs pulled up onto the seat, her head resting against the pillowed back.

He walked up to her and reached out to stroke her hair. She breathed in deeply and opened her eyes, a wide smile spreading across her face when she saw him.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, the faintest echo of her voice resonating in the empty hall. “I didn’t know knights can be so stealthy.”

“The ones with fluffy shoulders are.”

She huffed a small laugh and reached up to hold his hand. “I’m glad you’re back. Did you get out of the battle all right?”

“Yes. The moment you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field.”

“He abandoned his forces?” she asked, frowning.

“Is that really surprising?”

“No,” she sighed. “I suppose not.”

He walked around the chair and leaned his shoulder against the backrest. “They panicked the moment he left, scattering to the wind. Our own are on their way back to Skyhold now, but it’ll take time. The losses are not so bad, but we have many wounded.” She nodded and looked away. “Are you all right?” he asked, noticing a sadness in her eyes.

“Yeah.” He raised his eyebrows and she let out a soft laugh. “I am, really. It’s just... Dorian is leaving.”

He blinked. “What, now?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “Not now. After we’re done with Corypheus. He’s feeling all inspired by what we learned in the temple, wants to change Tevinter.”

“I see,” he replied. “If anyone could make a difference there, it would be him.” She nodded in response, though her expression didn’t change. “It’s an admirable goal.”

“It is,” she sighed, tracing the stitches on his glove with her finger. “I should be supportive. I was, or tried to be, when he told me. But I can’t really picture life anymore without seeing him every day. The idea of him going...” She looked across the hall. “Any of the people who’ve gathered, really. I wonder where we’ll all end up when this is over.”

“If it is any consolation,” he said, squeezing her fingers, “I don’t plan on going anywhere. Not without you, at least.”

She smiled widely and looked up at him. “It is.” They continued to look at each other and her expression slowly turned serious. “Did you find Samson?”

“Yes.” He breathed in deeply and looked out the window. Seeing what was left of the man that once shared his life, his values, and ideals, had been harder than he imagined. Though there was little risk of it now, the idea that he might have ended up the same had his life gone differently was still terrifying. Anger whirled in his chest as he thought of all the things Samson had done, all the lives he’d cost, and what he’d done to his former brothers. “We brought him with us. He awaits your judgement in the stockades.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked back at her. “It is not for me to decide.”

“Not officially,” she replied, putting her legs down from the seat. “But I think you should.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It might give people the impression that I influence you.”

She huffed a laugh. “You have more influence than you realize.” The corner of her mouth pulled up as she looked him over. “Come on,” she said, getting up. “Sit down.”

He stared from her to the chair and back. “Absolutely not. Who knows what someone might think if they came in.”

“It’s nighttime and the castle is practically empty,” she said dismissively. “Besides, it’s my damn chair. I’ll decide who sits in it.”

He frowned and didn’t move, but she continued to look at him with a teasing smile on her face, motioning with her head to the throne. With a sigh he moved over and sat down, shifting uncomfortably on the cushioned seat. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable chair, but the view was oddly impressive. The hall looked bigger in a way, yet sitting up on the raised platform gave an instant feeling of importance. He glanced up at Remy. She’d crossed her arms and eyed him appraisingly, still smirking.

“You fill it up better than I do,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Maybe I should invest in some heavy armor after all.”

“You wouldn’t be able to get up anymore under the weight,” he smirked.

“True,” she laughed. “Maybe I just talk to your tailor then. Get some volume on my shoulders.” She stepped forward and sat sideways in his lap, letting her legs hang over the armrest and putting her arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around her and pulled her close, softly stroking her cheek while she lay her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to be angry any longer,” he said softly after a while. “But when I think about Samson and what he did...” He shook his head. “It’s unfair, but it is easier to let you decide. I am not sure what I would do. Part of me wants to see him suffer.”

“I can imagine,” she replied. “Word of advice though. No matter what they did, if you kill someone that used to be your friend, even remotely... It will stay with you.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Anders?”

“Yeah…” she sighed, meeting his gaze. “We clashed all the time, but we also shared a lot. When he did what he did... If you can think of any other fate for Samson, you should.”

He hugged her tighter and thought for a moment. “His life won’t be long, the lyrium will get him in the end,” he murmured into her hair. “He might still be of use to the Inquisition for his remaining years.”

“Would you be okay with that?” she asked, raising her head.

“Yes.”

“All right,” she nodded. “Then that is what will happen.”

He breathed deeply and smiled as he stroked the line of her jaw. It wasn’t just their cause that brought him peace nowadays. The fact that she trusted him, confided in him, and allowed him to help carry her responsibilities, felt better than any purpose he’d ever served. Yet there would be the time that she would face Corypheus again and, like in Haven and Adamant, circumstances might not allow him to follow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His thumb had frozen on her chin and his worries must have shown in his eyes. He sighed and placed his hand on the side of her face. “I don’t want to lose you.”

A faint line formed in her forehead when her eyebrows shot up in earnest. “Am I going somewhere?”

He exhaled the faintest of laughs. “It is only a matter of time before Corypheus retaliates,” he said, stroking the back of his fingers across her cheek. “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again.” Her eyes were blue like the night sky, shimmering in the moonlight as they flitted between his. “Andraste preserve me,” he sighed, the idea of ever living without her again tearing through his heart.

“Don’t do that,” she said, a hint of sharpness in her voice.

He blinked. “Do what?”

“We’ve beaten Corypheus at every turn,” she said lightly. “All that’s left is to finish him. We won’t fail.”

“He possessed that Warden at Mythal. Aren’t you afraid?”

“No.” Her expression was completely neutral. “It’s him and a dragon. I’ve killed dragons before and I’ve killed him before. I will do it again and this time we’ll find a way to make it stick.”

He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief at her confidence. “He’s stronger now.”

“So are we.” She pushed her forehead against his. “And I have much better reasons for wanting to win.”


	46. Doom Upon All the World

> _“Hurtled into the chaos, you fight... and the world will shake before you. Is it fate or chance? I can never decide.”_

“You know what I like about Corypheus?”

Varric’s eyes looked up at her, reflecting green in the glow of the Breach. “What’s that?” he asked, giving her a sideways smirk.

“He is so obviously evil. In Kirkwall, everything we did was in a grey zone, but I am certain that when we go to sleep tonight I will have no doubt in my mind that we did the right thing in ending him.”

He laughed in that low, familiar rumble she’d taken an instant liking to so many years ago. “Yes, you’ve got to give the guy that.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. “You ready to end this?” she smiled.

“Oh, I think so,” he nodded. “It was about time, wouldn’t you say?”

He closed his hand over hers when she placed it on his shoulder. It was a brief moment, but enough to say everything between them that needed to be said. She turned, and he followed her down the stairs into the courtyard.

Despite the absence of their army, Skyhold was in chaos. Every other member of the Inquisition had gathered in the grounds and on the walls, fixated on the hole in the sky, their expressions different mixes of parts fear and anger. Her companions joined them one by one in front of the gate, armed to the teeth, their faces full of determined concentration. Each of them gave her a small sign - an inclination of the head, a gesture, a small touch on the arm or shoulder - something to tell her, “I’m with you.”

Master Dennet and his men brought out their horses and Remy smoothly mounted Tempest. The tension in the air was thick and the gelding nervously fretted under her, repeatedly lifting his front legs several inches from the ground as he danced in place.

“Easy, fella’,” she murmured, placing her hand on his neck.

She looked at her friends. Varric astride his sturdy mountain pony, a carefree smile on his face and Bianca slung over his shoulder. Dorian on his snowy white mare - an impractical color, but undeniably dashing - looking at her with such fondness and pride it was almost enough to make her blush. Bull towering over them with his enormous draft horse, steady as a rock, a distinct glimmer in his eyes at the anticipation of the upcoming fight.

Behind them were Cassandra - her smile as different as night from day from the scowl she gave her when they first met - and all of their other friends. Up on the staircase where she declared war on Corypheus stood her advisors, Cullen in the center with Josephine and Leliana on either side. The Inquisition’s leadership, the world’s last defense should she and her companions fail.

She knew she was in denial when she dismissed his concerns with much more confidence than was called for. To her relief he had not brought them up again, though she could see them in his eyes every second she’d spent with him. The truth wasn’t that she wasn’t worried or afraid. It was that she had said goodbye to him too often in her life already, and she couldn’t bear to do so again.

A hushed silence fell over the courtyard once all of her companions were seated on their mounts and she felt dozens of pairs of eyes look upon her. She would never like the feeling of them, but unlike before, she now felt she could carry their weight. The time had come to say something inspirational, something strong and eloquent that would ease the fears of the people around her and give them confidence, but she couldn’t think of anything that would meet those requirements. Instead she turned Tempest in a small circle, letting her eyes drift over the crowd and connecting for a brief moment with each and every one of her circle, telling them that she was with them too, and how much she appreciated them. Then she turned and fixed Cullen with her eyes.

“Get my favorite beer,” she called, smirking. “We’re getting drunk tonight!”

He huffed a short laugh and pulled the corner of his mouth up in his half-smile, shaking his head. She pulled back on the reins and Tempest reared, his whinny cutting sharp through the air, before she turned him towards the gate and dug her heels into his flanks. They could hear the cheers from the Inquisition until long after they crossed the bridge.

> _“Regret is something I know well. Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul.”_

The hooves of the horses thundered down the mountain. Remy lay flat against Tempest’s neck, his blond mane tinted green in the unnatural light. Though it was midday, it might as well have been night. The Breach crackled and roared overhead, blackening out the sun and spitting out emerald flames. It grew faster than it had the first time and was rapidly ripping through the sky above their heads. She could feel the Veil breaking under de strain, and heard the voices of the Fade being twisted and warped as they got sucked towards the gaping hole. She pressed her calves firmer into Tempest’s sides and pushed her hands forward, sending the horse pelting even faster down the rocky slope.

The earth began to shake when they entered the valley and the remnants of Haven came into view. Cracks appeared, small at first, but quickly tearing the ground apart. Their horses zig-zagged through the world that was slowly unravelling around them, jumping over sudden chasms and dodging meteors that were raining down upon them from the Void.

It was at the foot of the stairs leading to the temple that they dismounted, the horses quickly scattering away as each of her companions readied their weapons. They made their way up through the falling rubble and soon saw the small squad of Inquisition soldiers that had been stationed in the valley come into view.

Corypheus loomed at the remains of the temple’s entrance, the elven orb crackling with energy in his hand. Demons answered his call, clawing their way up from the ground or materializing out of thin air, while he taunted their people. Pride and defiance surged in Remy’s chest at their resistance and she quickly dashed forward with her party to assist them when he unleashed his attack.

“Inquisitor,” he thundered, “I knew you would come.”

“Your invitation was hard to resist,” she replied, gesturing up at the sky. “You made a mistake coming out here, Corypheus. This ends now.”

“And so it shall.”

The darkspawn’s hands began to glow, and a shudder pulled through the ground. She braced herself, watching small rocks and clumps of dirt slowly drift up into the sky. Lighting cracked between his palms and the rumbling in the earth intensified in tandem with the tremors in the Veil. Remy stepped away from a crevice that tore its way through the rock next to her and planted her staff-blade in the ground for stability when the mountain got ripped from its place and started to ascend to the heavens. 

> _“The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”_

She glanced over the edge, seeing the valley rapidly grow smaller beneath them. More demons emerged and were engaged by the few soldiers that were left on the ground. Her companions had been close to her and they looked around them as well, their expressions filled with angry determination.

Morrigan came to stand next to her while Corypheus continued to hurl insults in Remy’s direction. She didn’t pay much attention to him and instead glanced over at the witch.

“You ready?”

“I am,” she said casually. “I hope you are too, Inquisitor.”

“Very much so,” she smirked. “I hope I’ll never end up on your mother’s bad side, lady Morrigan, but she gives some solid advice. I should have listened to her sooner.”

She breathed a short chuckle. “Yes... I am thinking that perhaps I should have listened more to her as well. Though I suppose I won’t have much choice in the future.”

Remy focused her gaze back on Corypheus. The dragon appeared above him, baring its teeth and fixing her with its gaze. “Good luck,” she mumbled to the witch, taking her battle stance.

Morrigan shifted into her own beside her, her yellow eyes turning feral and the muscles under her skin tensing in anticipation of her transformation. “And to you,” she replied.

The Fade warped around her when she leapt forward. Her arms and legs grew outwards and became covered in scales, while wings erupted from her back. Her tail swished by, narrowly missing Remy, and she met the dragon that had lunged towards them headfirst in the air. In a tangle of teeth and claws the creatures fought their way to the edge of the floating isle, before plummeting into the depths below.

Corypheus followed the dragons with his eyes before snapping his gaze back to her, his already disfigured face screwed up in anger. With a roar his hands began to glow once again, and the floating isle shook as he reached into the Fade and readied his attack.

All around her, she heard the sounds of her companions readying themselves - the tightening of a bow string, the roaring battle cries, the familiar click of the crossbow and the first notes of the mages’ songs - and they charged in, side by side, ready to triumph or die together.

Cullen had been right in saying that Corypheus was stronger now. Remy didn’t know if it was the elven artifact that gave him strength, the fact that when she last fought him he had just woken from ages of slumber, or something else entirely. But while his attacks were familiar, they hit them with a strength unlike anything she’d felt before. While the Breach pulled on her magic and seemingly tried to twist and warp it to its will, the darkspawn seemed to flourish under the chaos he’d caused. The gaping chasm in the sky pulsed with his attacks and demons rapidly found their way into their world to join him in his madness.

But though Cullen had been correct, so had she been. Even with his orb and the shades that continued to join him, the ten of them were more than the magister had bargained for. The warriors swarmed him under the watchful eye of Vivienne, the shine of her spirit sword reflecting in their armor, and Cole was everywhere and nowhere, flitting in and out of cover between them. Remy stood next to Dorian and they coordinated their attacks like they had done so often done before, the familiar pull of his magic next to her strengthening her spirit, while Solas and both archers had taken position on higher ground. Every possible element under their command shot through the air and struck at the darkspawn, and though he succeeded in shielding himself from much, he far from managed for all.

Slowly, he retreated and they chased him up through the floating ruin, the ground swaying under their feet and occasionally throwing them off balance. What was left of the stone walls crumbled around them, shaken loose by the quakes, and Remy had to leap aside to narrowly dodge the head of a massive Andrastian statue that came tumbling down the broken staircase. Varric’s hand found hers and pulled her to her feet, a quick glance exchanged between them, before they pressed on with the others.

In between the chaos, she caught glimpses of the dragons, shrieking and snarling as they struggled in the air. From what she could see, Morrigan did not match the monster in strength, but made up for it in cunning. She weaved in between the falling shards, luring the less agile dragon with her and causing it to smash into the rocks that she managed to avoid. The creature shrieked and shot a blast her way from its throat, fire mixed with the crackle of red lyrium, which only missed her by a hair.

For a moment the world seemed to freeze. Corypheus moved away in a flash when the harrowing cry of his dragon cut through the air and drew their attention to the sky. They watched Morrigan fly up towards the Breach, one of her wings torn at the side and moving in shorter beats than the other, the monster close on her tail. She turned in mid-air, folding in her wings, and rapidly descended upon her enemy. They clawed, bit, scratched, and snapped, tumbling through the air and heading straight to where they were standing.

“Heads up!” Sera called out. The dragons crashed against the rock, the impact throwing Remy and the others off their feet, and took a large chunk of the island with them as they continued to fall and disappeared from view.

There was a short moment of silence, until suddenly a claw appeared from beyond the edge and its nails dug themselves into the ground. The dragon scrambled back up the ridge, leaving long marks in the stone where it grabbed on to the surface. It came towards them, no less menacing than it had been in Haven, despite its wing hanging limp at its side and a large chunk of scales missing from its flank.

Bull flexed his arms and swirled his axe around, before gripping it tightly and charging in ahead of everyone else. Cassandra let out an annoyed grunt and wiped her brow before chasing him, followed by the rest.

“Focus on the legs!” Remy called after them.

With the few dragons they’d come across in their travels the Qunari hadn’t cared much for strategy, but now he hollered in response, quickly rolling out of the way of the jaws snapping at him.

The corruption of the red lyrium made the dragon unlike any other they’d encountered. Much like the behemoths, its distortion made it fight harder, its attacks more vicious, and its skin more resilient. Bull seemed to revel in the challenge. He struck at the legs with vigor, seemingly not at all bothered by the slow pace at which he was chipping away at the scaly defenses. Remy looked over to Dorian who was standing further away, and smiled. His gaze was fixed on the Qunari and he focused on shielding the reckless warrior from incoming hits of the monster’s claws and tail, a smile on his face despite his brow being furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly everything seemed to happen at once. Blackwall’s sword got lodged in the dragon’s front leg, causing it to trip and fall to its side. It let out a deafening roar and swept its head across the ground, knocking the warriors off their feet and sending them flying against the walls. The impact made the fragile stone crumble on top of them, and Remy and the others could only barely pull up barriers in time to shield them from the falling debris, before having to hastily dodge the fire spilling from the monster’s jaws. She lay flat on the dusty floor, the heat blazing over her back and the sharp singe of burned hair filling her nose.

She scrambled to her feet and charged in, feeling the currents of the other mages wash over her and flow through her body.

“Bull!”

The Qunari had reemerged from the rubble, the green glow of Dorian’s support spell shining on his skin. He ran forward and slipped to a halt in her path, bracing himself as he sat on bent knee and waited for her to reach him. The dragon lifted its head and prepared another shot in her direction, but it recoiled and shrieked in pain when one of Varric’s bolts found its eye. She stepped low and tensed her legs, before leaping up and finding Bull’s shoulder with her foot. His hand closed around her ankle and he pushed up with her momentum, sending her hurtling through the air.

She landed wrong, rolled across the dragon’s back, and almost slid off of it on the other side. The sharp scales cut into her arms when she twisted around and only barely managed to grab a hold of the base of its wing, her legs flailing as she tried to get a foothold on the slippery back. The creature writhed under her and tried to push itself up, wildly turning its head and snapping its teeth in an attempt to rid itself of the thing hanging on to it like a tick.

The warriors returning to the fight, Blackwall only sporting a shield, gave her the window she needed. She pulled herself up by a spike of lyrium sticking out its shoulder and ran across the neck, adjusting her feet to the shifting surface. It reared its head and threw her off balance, but she managed to lunge forward and grab on to the horns protruding from its skull.

It tried to throw her with all its might, shaking violently, and she felt her grip rapidly slipping. With one arm wrapped around the horn, she brought up her staff and plunged the blade into the fragile spot where its spine connected to the base of its head. It let out an enraged roar and swept its neck from side to side, while she desperately clung to her weapon until she’d finished the enchantment.

The magic spread from the point of incision and rapidly enveloped the creature’s skin, swirling trails spreading into blooming crystals and growing into shards of ice. Its neck became rigid, its jaw set, though the shimmering surface quickly began to buckle under the strain of the monster fighting for freedom underneath. With one more stiff lurch from its torso, Remy was tossed to the side, rolled through the dust, and hit her back hard against a rock.

She pushed herself up and watched Bull charge in. His axe gleamed in the glow of the Breach as it whirled through the air, before finding the spot where her staff was still sticking out of the layer of ice. The crystal shattered on contact and the blade cleaved into the neck, breaking the connection between head and body. The creature let out one last howl while it sputtered and twitched, until its eyes became extinguished and its form went limp.

They gathered around it, battered and bruised to varying degrees, but all of them still alive. Blackwall’s blade was permanently lost under the massive body of the dragon and the two halves of Remy’s broken staff, only connected by a few splinters of wood, lay next to its severed head.

“Where is Corypheus?” Varric asked, scanning the area.

The answer came instantly. Red lightning crackled around the scaly head and something floated up from the dead eyes. A fragment, no more than a sliver of the darkspawn’s essence, yet brimming with corrupted magic. It shot up the floating mountain and disappeared into the ruin, where it found its owner.

Corypheus came into view, the orb glowing in his hand, and he turned his attention to the heavens. The Breach roared and shook the world, sending another shiver through the rock they were standing on and slowly ripping it to pieces.

“He will tear the world apart!” Cassandra yelled over the deafening rumble emanating from the breaking Veil.

They turned and ran towards the stairs, the floor collapsing under their feet as the island grew smaller and smaller. Remy felt someone thrust a staff in her hand in passing and looked down at her new weapon. Simply wrought wood, with worn leather bindings and a crystal on the tip. Solas’.

She leapt over the fissure that appeared before her and grabbed on to the steps, scrambling with her feet to clamber up on the platform rapidly ascending further into the sky. A large hand grabbed her arm, sending a sharp sting through the wounds the dragon’s scales had left on it, and pulled her up.

The wind rushed past her face when she looked back, burning her eyes and tugging on her hair. She spotted some of her companions on other shards floating in the air, and prayed that the ones she couldn’t see were all right. Lying with her on the stairs was her team. Bull, one hand still on her arm, the other around his weapon. Dorian, clutching a stitch in his side, mustache mushed and hair in disarray. Varric, lying flat on his back and holding Bianca to his heaving chest with both hands.

“Everyone okay?” she breathed. They turned to look at her and their defiant smirks appeared almost in unison. “Good,” she said, giving them her own in return. “Let’s go.”

They made their way up the staircase, stabilizing each other against the continued shaking of the island and the winds tearing at them from all directions. Eventually they reached the top and vaulted down into the area where Corypheus was standing.

If there was ever any saneness in the darkspawn, it was long gone by now. He spat insults at them and called out to his gods, flinging whatever attacks he could still muster in their direction, while the orb hung suspended in the air above him.

Conscious thought had no place in her mind as she ran, ducked, jumped, and dodged, as well as throwing anything she could pull from the crumbling Fade at her target. The darkspawn roared when a bolt of lightning struck him in the chest. His glowing eyes focused on her and a last blast of energy erupted from him, knocking them off their feet. The elven artifact flared as it got pulled towards his hand in a last-ditch effort to complete his mad scheme, causing the mark on her hand to pulse in response.

For a moment she no longer heard the noises of the chaos around her. She stared at her hand, focusing on the scar she had resented so much when she first got it. It beat under her glove in sync with her heart, calling out to the relic that had conjured it into existence. She didn’t know why or how, but the idea formed clear as crystal, and there was no doubt in her mind that it would work.

The island made a sudden drop in altitude and it cost her all her effort to scramble back to her feet. She tore off her glove, revealing the glowing mark that crackled and sizzled on her hand. It no longer hurt, despite the Breach swirling and seething above them. She stretched out her hand and settled her gaze on the orb still in Corypheus’ hand, focusing her energy on it. It began to resonate with the anchor and slowly slipped from his control. His eyes flitted between her and the orb, his expression going from twisted rage, to disbelief, to pure panic, until it shot through the air and came to a sudden halt above her outstretched palm.

The power emanating from it was immense, tearing at her muscles and her brain, the bright light burning in her eyes. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand to stabilize it and focused everything she had on the chasm above, every fibre of her being urging it to close as demons screamed in her head. The swirling torrent of energy thundered up into the sky and pulled at the edges of the fissure, dragging them inwards inch by inch, increasing in speed the closer they got to the beam shooting up from the orb spinning above her hand.

Then... there was silence. A sudden hush that fell over the land when the Breach was pulled shut once more and the orb lost its glow, before it fell to the ground with a dull thud. She stumbled backwards, an overwhelming desire to lie down rushing to her head, but she remained upright and fixed Corypheus with her eyes while her friends came towards her.

They walked over to the darkspawn that sat on his knees, its body broken from their assault and the last of its will sapped away when the orb was taken from him. She didn’t waste any more words on him, and instead motioned to Bull with a jerk of her head. The axe flashed through the air, taking the magister’s head clean off of his shoulders while she flexed her hand to open the last rift she would ever conjure. He seemed to cave in on himself until the Void pulled him in, and he was wiped from existence in front of their eyes.

The island shook under their feet and rocks came crashing down, no longer kept suspended in the air by the orb. All they could do as the world fell down around them was look at each other, a last smile exchanged between friends, before the floor gave way underneath their feet and they plummeted into the depths below, green barriers flashing into existence around them.

 

Remy woke, but did not open her eyes. She let her mind drift over her body, checking the state it was in. The arm that lay pressed in between her torso and the ground throbbed painfully and her back felt stiff, with a dull ache shooting down into her leg, but other than that she seemed to be okay. Hardly believing she managed to get out of a situation without being one foot in the Fade herself, she flexed her fingers and toes and, to her surprise, found them all still willing to respond.

She pushed herself up and looked around. The valley had been torn apart, but all its pieces were once again on the ground. She herself was lying in what used to be a chamber of the temple, though it was in a completely different location than it had been originally. A faint rustling came from behind, the sound almost loud in the thick stillness that had followed the chaos. She got to her feet, grabbed the staff that was lying next to her, and turned to find Solas, sitting on his knees next to the orb that had been smashed to pieces in the fall.

He picked up one of the halves and turned it over in his hands. Though she could not feel too conflicted about the loss of the artifact that had enabled one madman to cause such destruction, his sorrow at the loss of it saddened her nonetheless.

“I’m sorry.”

He got to his feet and turned to face her. “It is not your fault.”

There was a look in his eyes that made the hair in the back of her neck stand on end. It was one she had seen only once before; the pain of someone who’d thought he did the right thing, but never imagined, nor intended, the disastrous consequences his actions had brought.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked.

He sighed and looked away. “It was not supposed to happen this way.”

Something stirred beyond the walls and she heard the other members of the Inquisition calling out in search of her. She looked back at him and breathed deeply, before handing him back his staff. He took it, his gaze lingering on her hand for a moment, before meeting her eyes. “No matter what comes,” he said softly, “I want you to know you shall always have my respect.”

“I hope so,” she replied. Her patience for people with hidden identities and agendas had run out, though she was no longer surprised by them. Should the time come, she would deal with them… but for now she couldn’t muster up the energy to care. She inclined her head to the elf, and turned away to find the others.

They were all there, sporting bruises and other injuries, but still in one piece. The scar in the sky shimmered in their eyes and relief spread across their faces when they saw her emerge from the ruin.

“Everyone all right?”

Nods and murmurs came from the group in front of her, all of them clearly sharing her disbelief at the fact that they actually were. She walked down the broken steps and quickly saw to the more pressing injuries with the other mages.

“What do we do now?” Cassandra asked, while Remy held a hand to her side to heal a cracked rib.

She glanced north to the mountain ridge that they had traversed all those months ago after their crushing defeat in Haven. “We go home,” she said, turning her gaze back to the Seeker. She returned her smile and took Remy’s hand so she could pull her up, before they made their way down the mountain to find the horses.

 

Their people had spilled out onto the bridge to meet them and the crowd parted when they rode up to the keep. Hands touched her legs and Tempest’s neck, faces looking up at her in elation. For the first time they did not make her feel guilty and she returned the smiles, though it made her realize all the more that there was just one face that she really wanted to see right now.

She didn’t know if he’d moved at all, or had simply remained in the same position while they’d been away, but his eyes were the first thing she found as she rode through the gate, exactly where she had left them. She kept her own fixed on them while she dismounted and made her way up the stairs, feeling her heart beat faster with every step she took.

When she reached the platform it seemed he and the others made to bow for her. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she said gruffly and they looked up. Wide smiles spread across their faces and they aborted the ceremonial gesture, while Remy closed the distance between her and Cullen with a few quick strides and threw herself against him. He chuckled softly as he embraced her, burying his face in her hair and pulling her into his cloak.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Never better.”

She pulled back and kissed him, not noticing the increased volume of the cheers rising up from the courtyard when she did. His smile was one of pure affection when she pulled away, and for the briefest of moments he looked years younger. There were no shadows in his face, only joy and relief that she had returned to him once more. She exchanged hugs with the other advisors, whispering a soft “thank you” in their ears, before she took his hand and they stepped to the edge of the platform, taking in the applause of their people below.

> _“Truth is not the end, but a beginning.”_


	47. A Moment to Breathe

In the end Remy never did get drunk on the night they beat Corypheus. A party had started in the grounds when they’d returned, but she had been so exhausted from the fight that it had largely passed her by. Instead, she had taken Cullen by his hand the first chance she got and they’d gone up to his loft, where they’d undressed and he held her in his arms. She’d fallen asleep almost instantly and for the next few days had barely left his bed at all, spending a lot more time simply being together, catching up on rest, and talking.

Now she looked around the grand hall, trying to picture the state it was in when they’d first arrived. Tonight it was filled with the Inquisition’s banners, the smells of food, light from hundreds of candles, and guests that had come from all over the land to attend the celebration, making it hard to imagine that the castle had been abandoned and neglected not so long ago.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. It was as if the stone itself sang with the joy that filled the keep, the old magic rejuvenated by their presence, their pride, and hope. For a moment she let her mind wonder, drawing a parallel between herself and the castle, but the thought was too sentimental to even finish and she chuckled softly to herself.

“What’s funny?”

Dorian plunked himself down next to her. “Thanks,” she smiled, taking the glass of wine he handed her. “Just thinking profound things and noticing I am really not the type for that.”

“Maker, no,” he chuckled. “Let’s not get profound towards the end. It’s so not our style.”

She swirled the liquid in her glass. “When are you leaving?” she asked, finding it hard to keep smiling.

“Oh, not for some time,” he said casually.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah…” He took a long, drawn-out sip from his drink. “I think I’m going to stick around for a while.”

She sat up and slammed her drink on the table with more force than intended, spilling wine over her hand in the process. “What about Tevinter?”

He smirked behind his glass, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Tevinter can wait a bit.”

“Don’t play with my heart, man,” she said, flicking a drop of wine in his direction as she pointed a warning finger at him.

“Come on,” he said, “how could I leave my only friend?”

The glass got knocked out of his hand when she shrieked and threw herself against him. He laughed loudly and hugged her back, his mustache tickling on the side of her face. They drew a few curious glances from around the room but neither of them noticed nor cared. A new glass was quickly arranged and she nestled herself against him while they toasted the future.

“So,” he sighed happily. “It seems like we won’t be needing our arrangement, will we?” He had his eyes fixed on Cullen, who was talking to Vivienne on the other side of the room.

“I don’t think so,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Will you let me out of it?”

“Hmm...” He glanced up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “Oh, all right then.”

“Thanks,” she smirked. “I have to wonder if we ever were the type to get married, you know. I think we should just make a pact to all get a castle together when we’re old and crippled.”

“I like that idea.”

"You’re gonna see where things will go with Bull?" she asked.

Small lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Though she would have preferred to spend the whole night with her friends, there were many visitors that called for her attention. She moved between groups, telling stories of their successes, sharing jokes, and answering questions. Whenever she felt herself get weary of all the attention, she would catch the eye of one of her companions from somewhere in the room and their reassuring smiles would quickly ease her mind.

It wasn’t until she noticed Varric sitting outside, his stocky shape sharply framed by the moonlight, that she slipped out of the crowd and sat down next to him at the top of the stairs.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking up at her.

“Hey, you.” She breathed deeply, watching the familiar lines and shapes of his face. “We did it.”

“We did,” he nodded. “Our conscience is once again clear. I gotta say, it’s a fucking relief.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It fucking is.” They chuckled softly and watched the festivities below. “When are you going back to Kirkwall?” she asked after a while.

“Not for a bit. But I don’t want to wait too long either, there’s still a lot of work to do over there.”

She nodded. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“You’ll be all right.”

“I know. But I’ll still miss you.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Me too. Kirkwall is only a boat ride away though.”

“True. Or maybe Morrigan will leave her Eluvian here. Didn’t Merrill fix hers in the end?”

“Not my favorite method of travel,” he frowned. “But convenient. I’ll check.”

Loud cheers rose up below them when Krem busted open another cask of beer and the people swarmed around it, holding out their mugs to catch the liquid that was spilling out.

“I’m proud of you, Hawke,” Varric said earnestly.

She smiled at her old friend. “Thank you… for everything. I wouldn’t be anywhere if not for you.”

“I just saw an opportunity in someone with potential,” he smirked. “I never imagined where it would end up. You’re the one that made it all happen.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

They sat in silence, looking out over the courtyard. She had felt panicked at the idea of her companions going their own way. People tended to drift apart without the convenience of a shared location or a common cause to unite them. Even with Dorian she wasn’t sure how close they’d remain once he would decide to go home. Her experience with other friends did not inspire much confidence, and Tevinter was a long way off. As much as she promised herself she wasn’t going to let it happen, it was likely they would keep in touch for a while, until the contact slowly faded, only reignited by the occasional letter or at shared events.

For Varric it was not so. He was with her, no matter how far apart they were, ingrained into her very soul. Even though it saddened her to see him go, she also had the comfort of knowing that wherever they both would be, he was never truly gone. She wanted to tell him this, though no words could ever suffice. Fortunately it wasn’t needed. He knew, just as she knew that he felt the same.

“Will you come inside and sing with me?” she asked.

“It would be my pleasure.”

It was late at the night when she was talking with Cassandra and suddenly felt the familiar touch of Cullen’s fingertips trace down her spine. The Seeker smiled and turned away, while his hands slid over to her front and pulled her against him.

“I think you’ve suffered enough,” he murmured. “Or at least I have. Come on.”

He gently nipped at her ear, his mouth warm against her skin. “Aye, Commander,” she said softly, feeling her breath getting caught in her throat when his hand stroked across the line of her trousers. He took her hand, but she halted when he began to move towards the watch tower. “Let’s go here.” She motioned with her head to the door leading to her chambers. “It’ll be more quiet.” His eyebrows shot op momentarily in surprise, but he changed course, leading her through the crowd towards the back of the hall instead.

They’d only barely pushed their way through the door when he found her lips with his, while his hands firmly stroked up her sides and onto her back. The hairs of his cloak were soft under her palms as she ran her own over his shoulders and into his hair. They slowly made their way up through the stairwell, pausing every few meters, until he picked her up and carried her for the last flight of steps.

“Careful,” she chuckled, in between kissing him. “You’re not the youngest anymore.”

“Good thing I’m not a mage,” he smirked, his teeth scraping across her lips. “All that useless muscle training is coming in handy now.”

A soft breeze blew in that carried the murmur of the party below with it, and the room was bathed in moonlight, creating subtle shadows that played on the walls. The air was chilly on her skin when Cullen pulled off her shirt to bare her shoulders and chest, making the heat of his breath and tongue only the more rousing. His fingers dug into her back, firmly stroking down to her bottom and pulling her against him, while he sucked her neck in his favorite spot. Her breath grew shallow and came out with short, strangled squeals, the sounds not failing to spur him on even more, until he pushed her back onto the bed and landed on top of her. His hands moved over her body in a frenzy while his armor pressed heavily on her chest, and she pulled his head up by the back of his hair.

“What?”

She pushed up and moved to sit astride him on the edge of the bed. “Just let me take care of you for a bit,” she whispered.

In the half-dark his eyes were a soft brown. They trailed her own, following her movements while she worked off his armor. She unhooked the cloak, revealing the actual shape of his broad shoulders, and unwrapped the waistband and other layers covering his cuirass. By now she had undressed him often enough that she didn’t need to look at where the straps and buckles connected, and she found and undid them while keeping her eyes fixed on his, taking the time to carefully place the metal plating on the floor behind her.

She was undoing the laces of the layers he wore under his armor and pulled them over his head, when a shiver pulled through her bare torso. He picked up the cloak and wrapped it around her, holding it by its ends to drag her towards him and kiss her. The hairs tickled in her face and were saturated with his scent; the warm, earthy mix of parchment, embers, and cured leather. They slowly fell back onto the bed, his arms embracing her with the cloak between them.

His heartbeat was strong against her own and gradually increased in pace in response to her hips pressing and pulling against his. He gasped, briefly lifting them off the bed with the curving of his back, when she moved down to his neck, enjoying the roughness of his stubble against her lips. While her fingers stroked his body, tracing the lines that combat had left on him, she continued her slow descent until she lingered over his heart, feeling the faint shockwaves it sent out in her lips as she caressed the skin. His beautiful heart; so steady and loyal. Never corrupted, despite there being so many opportunities for it to get so.

The cloak tugged on her neck and she raised her head to find him looking at her, his eyes soft and his mouth slightly open. She moved back up, laying her body against him. His breath had grown deep, his chest moved with her own. He reached up to untangle her braid, causing the long, black hair to flow over her shoulder. His fingers combed through the messy mane, which was even more uneven since the dragon burned some of it away. A few times they got stuck on a knot, and she chuckled while he moved to untie them.

“Do you ever think of doing it short again?” he asked.

“Sometimes. Would you like that?”

He thought for a moment. “I did like it. But this fits you better now.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I think so too.”

His kiss stirred the well-known fire in her heart that rapidly spread down her torso. Her body responded on its own, pushing her hips harder against him and pressing her fingers into his shoulder blades. A soft moan rumbled in his chest and he firmly traced up and down her back with his hands, massaging the cloak against her muscles and pulling her closer against him with increasing urgency. Slowly she felt her control slipping away, though she did not yet release the magic that she kept safely locked away. Only if he wanted her to, and not until he said so. He must have felt her power stirring within however, for not a moment later he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured.

She pulled away slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” she teased. “This coming from the careful Knight-Captain.”

“How we’ve grown,” he smirked.

“We have, haven’t we?” she chuckled, letting her fingers trace over his hips where he was hard against her. His chest shook under her with his laughter and she savored the sound. She loved his gentle smiles, his asymmetrical smirks that tugged on the scar, his one syllable chuckles... but there was nothing like the sound of his unrestricted laughter, so beautiful and so rarely earned.

They removed the rest of their clothes and he rolled her onto her back. His fingers and tongue ran across her body, sending trickles of dull electricity through her skin on some of the patches that had not fully recovered from her encounter with the Fear demon. While at first the decrease in sensitivity had upset her, he had managed to find a way of using it to their advantage. During the time she’d spent in his bed over the last days, he had explored her body at his leisure, figuring out how each area responded to his touch. Now he skillfully brushed his scruff along a scar, traced a nail down her side, or sucked the skin between his teeth; soft where her senses were working properly and manipulating the areas where they were not. Within minutes she was gasping, moaning, and clutching at her hair, while the smell of him and the cloak underneath her clouded her mind.

A jolt shot up through her spine the moment his hand reached down between her legs. Her magic flared with every pulse that pulled through her muscles, and she grabbed fistfuls of the long, red hairs that lay around her head, curving her back and dragging the cloak against her shoulders. He played her like an instrument, his fingers rapidly increasing their speed while his mouth worked her body, the song of her magic sounding through the night under his touch.

Her climax tore through her body, washing over her in long, hypnotizing waves that violently shook every muscle she had. He retracted his hand and pushed her legs out to the side to lie between them, while she continued to shake and shiver. When she opened her eyes he was watching her, his expression one of soft amusement as he observed her and the result of his work.

“You’re loving this,” she said in a low murmur, while another twitch made her pulse against him.

“I am,” he smirked, rolling his hips against her and instantly drawing another moan from deep within.

She chuckled softly, letting her head fall to the side and rubbing her cheek against the soft cloak while she steadied her breath. He brushed the side of her face, letting the tips of his fingers drag over into her hair and follow the strands until their tips. Sometimes the softness of his touch still managed to surprise her, so different from the times when passion took over his senses and those same hands could instead become brutally strong. He was no less dominant than he had been in their early years, thank the Maker, but he was more careful now, gentler… Loath as she was to use the mushy phrase, it was the only right way to describe it. They didn’t simply have sex anymore. He made love to her… and it was bliss.

“Are you tired?” he asked eventually, leaning down to brush his nose against her cheek.

She turned her head to look at him, pulling up the corner of her mouth in a challenging smirk. “Not nearly tired enough.”

He huffed a laugh and pressed his mouth on hers, eagerly sucking her lip in between his own. One hand took hold behind her head, while his other travelled down and nestled itself in the small of her back, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbing on to his shoulders and his hair, and arching her back to press herself firmer against him.

The muscles in his body tensed in unison with hers as he began to move, while he kept them locked to each other by their hips and mouths, their arms and legs tangled together to share as much skin as possible. He was everywhere; around and inside of her, and she could no longer discern his body from her own, their smells blending and their shapes fading together as they became one for a fleeting moment.

His movements were slow and deliberate, dragging out their time for as long as possible, until neither of them could resist the rising levels of lust and desire any longer. They raged through her body like a storm, and she clenched her thighs around him. Her magic swirled around the bed, pulling on the curtains in the room, and scattering papers from her desk onto the floor. 

His pace quickened and he broke out of the kiss, pulling her head against his shoulder. She bit down to stifle the squeals escaping her, feeling his stubble scrape along her cheek and his breath coming out in short, uneven gasps that were hot against her ear. His hips ground against hers, harder, faster, until his arms clenched around her and a low groan rumbled through his chest. He remained still, continuing to pleasure her as she trembled around him, her own climax tearing through her body once more.

He gently kissed her neck while their bodies calmed themselves and a lulling serenity fell over them, until she eventually pulled back on her magic and closed her connection to the Fade. He remained on top of her a while longer while she lazily stroked his hair and back, savoring his smell and the gentle pressure of his perfect body against her own.

She lay in his arms with the cloak wrapped around her, and they looked out the window, the full length of his body pressed against her back. His breath tickled on her skin as he nuzzled her neck, while his hand softly stroked her belly.

“So what now?”

He took a moment to think. “I don’t know.” She turned her head when he pushed himself up to look at her. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not about what’s going to happen out there. There will be a new Divine, new problems will arise, and we will play our part in fixing them.” A soft smile spread across his face. “But all that’s important is right here in this room.” She returned his smile and lifted her head to kiss him. “Unless,” he continued, when she lowered herself back down again, “at some point you’d rather go off to Tevinter with Dorian.”

“No,” she chuckled. “We called that off.”

“You did?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yeah…” she sighed, reaching up and letting her hand rest on his cheek. “I don’t want a back-up plan.”

The corner of his mouth tugged at the scar. “This is going to be it then?” he asked softly, rubbing his nose against hers. “You and me?”

“I’m game, if you are,” she smiled. “Though at the rate we’ve been going, it might not be just us for long.”

He frowned for a moment before looking over to his hand still lying on her stomach. His fingers flexed a fraction, and he let them trace along the many scars lining her torso. “I hadn’t thought…” he said slowly, and he looked back at her. “Do you think you can?”

“I assume they put everything back in the correct place,” she shrugged. “We’ll find out, I guess. Do you want to?”

He thought a moment, glancing back at her belly. “I think so. Do you think we can handle it?”

“Probably not,” she said simply, shaking her head. “It will be a very disturbed child. It’s good we have an Inquisition to back us up.”

“Right,” he laughed. “Between the two of us and an army, we should be able to limit the damage.”

He lowered himself back down and embraced her, his forehead resting against her own. She traced the contours of his face, following the familiar shapes she knew by heart. “You’d be a wonderful father,” she whispered, “my love.”

His eyebrows shot up and he pulled back, looking at her with a hint of astonishment. “What did you call me?”

“My love?” she smirked. “Thought I’d try it out. Weird?”

“A little,” he chuckled. He pressed himself against her again, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “But also really nice.”

“I guess that sums us up then.”

He kissed her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Though the immediate crisis had been averted, many more uncertainties were lying ahead. The future of Thedas was still undetermined and, for better or worse, they would have their part in shaping it. But two things she knew for sure. One, that whatever life still had in store for them, they would face it together. And two, that she would never tire of kissing him.

They lay together, cuddling and talking, and she noticed that for the first time the room did not feel too big and the bed not too empty. Eventually they fell into silence and she listened to the slow lengthening of his breath, until she too drifted off to sleep.

 

She woke only once that night. He was still holding her in his arms, but when she turned her head she found his face twisted with a pained frown. His hand was lying across her hip, his nails digging slightly into her skin from how forcefully he clenched the sheet. Her mind was hazy from sleep, but she turned around to lie face to face with him, and habitually placed her hand on his cheek.

The grounds below had gone quiet and the words of their lullaby carried softly through the silent room. Little by little, she watched the tension dissipate from his body. His face relaxed, as well as his hand, and it moved to her back, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. She fell back asleep shortly after and neither of them stirred until morning.


	48. Epilogue: Notes of Autumn

The afternoon light shone brightly on the plants in the window box and the small white flowers stirred in the gentle summer breeze that blew in from the south. Wood anemones… her mother’s favorite. Over the years they had spread beyond their designated location, and by now countless white flecks had woven themselves in between the wild grasses surrounding their house.

Remy looked out over the stepping stone path that weaved in between the bushes and opened up on the dirt road while she finished washing some dishes, until the ornate carriage she’d been waiting for pulled into view. She dried her hands on the towel she’d stuck in her belt, and went out to meet the guests. The carriage door flung open when she stepped outside and a tall figure emerged from it, groaning loudly as she stretched her limbs after the long ride.

“Divine Victoria,” Remy called, walking down the path. “It is an honor to welcome you back into our humble abode.”

“Maker, spare me,” she replied. “Don’t call me that.” Before she slammed the door shut, Remy could see the tall hat and Chantry robes lying in a crumple on the seat inside. “If you hear the clerics talk, you’d think I’m already one foot in the Fade. Do you know the trouble it took to come here without my guard?”

Remy smiled at her friend. There was nothing about the Seeker that suggested she was any less capable than she was when they first met. She still stood tall, as lean and strong as ever. If not for the thin lines in her face and the white streaks in her dark hair, you’d hardly think she’d aged at all.

“Well,” she replied, stopping in front of her, “you have my eternal gratitude for making the effort.” They laughed and hugged. “It’s good to see you, Cass.”

“And you, my friend,” Cassandra replied, pulling back to look at her. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Ups and downs. I hope you didn’t leave my son in Orlais with the rest of your guard?”

“Of course not,” said a voice from the side. They turned towards it to see a young man in armor come around the back of the carriage. His golden hair and amber eyes shone brightly in the sunlight, while the eye of the Seekers shimmered on his cuirass. “My coming with her is the only reason the clerics let her go at all.”

She sighed deeply and walked over to him, taking his face in her hands. “Maker’s breath, Caleb,” she said softly, studying his face. “You look more like your father every time I see you.” He smiled and hugged her, while she put her arms around his neck.

“Maker’s breath, mom?” he murmured. “Dad finally rubbing off on you?”

“Since your sister moved back with Emily I’ve been making more of an effort.”

“Wasted effort,” he chuckled. “She’s worse than you.”

They let go of each other and she turned towards the house. “Come in, come in. You’ll want to change and freshen up before the others arrive. Your father is in the back with Varric.”

The carriage pulled away towards the village and they went inside. While Caleb walked up the stairs with their luggage, Cassandra followed Remy through the hall and into the kitchen. “Something I can do to help?” she asked.

“Nah, just relax. I got it under control. Drink?”

“Please.”

With a wave of her hand, glasses and a bottle of wine flew from the cupboard to the table. “Do you mind pouring yourself?” she asked. “I’ve got a lot of things going on here.”

“Not at all.”

She checked on the different pots and pans that were stewing, adjusting the heat under a few of them. By a flick of her wrist the oven opened and the roast floated out. A ladle drifted over, scooped up the juices from the tray, and poured them over the top, while knives skidded across the counter and rapidly started chopping the vegetables into uneven chunks.

“Who would’ve thought you’d turn into a real kitchen princess,” Cassandra teased, leaning back in her chair and sipping from her drink.

“I know, right?” she chuckled, sitting down next to her and taking a big gulp from her own glass. “The things you can learn when you stop spending most of your time killing things in the countryside.”

“Leliana sends her love. She wanted to come, but the current situation at court is too precarious for her to leave.”

“Yes, she wrote last week. I would have liked to see her, but a small party might be better at the moment.”

Cassandra nodded. “Who else are you expecting?”

“Not too many,” she replied, twirling her finger in the air to make the spoons in the pots stir around. “His family was here last week to not have everyone come at once. Sera sent a half eaten box of petit fours and a drawing of a nug in a fancy hat, so I guess she’s somewhere in Orlais. I’m expecting Josephine on time for dinner, though Blackwall won’t join until the end of the week. The Inquisition’s army had a demonstration in the capital he couldn’t miss. Dorian will be here some time tonight with Bull, fashionably late obviously. Cole turned up a while ago, so I’m not expecting him back yet, and Vivienne wrote that she’s unable to come. There’s a gala in Montfort she’s taking Ali to.”

“Alice isn’t coming?”

“No, but I understand. It’s a big opportunity for her to meet the right people, you know how she cares about those things. And it’s been hard on her. She’s the youngest after all, always been her dad’s little girl.”

The Seeker’s sharp eyebrows drew down slightly. “How has it been?”

Remy exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling, thinking, until the lid on the soup pot began to sputter and she got up to remove it. “There are many good days. He forgets things, but he knows who and where we are and he seems very happy.” She grabbed a spoon and tasted the soup, before flicking with her hand to add more salt from the supply next to the stove. “Then there are times where he thinks he’s still in the Order or working for the Inquisition. On occasion he’s back in Ferelden’s Circle… Those days are tough, though it’s made a big difference since Varric moved in. Also he absolutely adores Emily, though she’s starting to show her magic so that could be an issue at some point.”

“Already? How old is she now?”

“She’ll be two in the fall. It’s nothing big yet, but the signs are there. The Rutherford cheekbones may be dominant, but the Hawke blood runs strong through the generations.”

“You say it might be an issue? He doesn’t respond well to magic then?”

“It’s fine usually, but we had a few incidents. We’ve gotten into the habit of not using it around him, just to be sure.”

Cassandra sighed and got up to put an arm around her shoulder. “I am sorry, Remy. I hate that I haven’t been around more.”

“Please, Cass, you’re the Divine. Maker knows we understand,” she smiled, taking her hand. “I’m glad you’re here now though, I’m sure it means a lot to him too. How long can you stay?”

“A fortnight or so, if you’ll have me. The clerics will panic no doubt, but now that I’m out, I plan to stretch it for as long as I can.”

“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. Varric is eager to talk to you about writing your memoirs,” Remy winked.

The Seeker made a disgusted noise. “Can’t he do yours?”

“Please, four books, a bunch of adventure novellas, and a romance serial about a mage and a templar falling madly in love during war time wasn’t enough?” she laughed. “People are sick of reading about me.”

“And the world definitely doesn’t need more erotic passages about Colin the Knight-Commander and Rona the apostate,” Caleb said behind them. He’d changed out of his armor and his mouth was pulled up in a half-smirk, so much like Cullen’s it made her heart ache a little.

“Did you put Cassandra’s things in the western room?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied, walking over to kiss her on her cheek and grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “Aunt Cass always gets the best view, I’m sure Dorian will be furious.”

“Dorian isn’t happy without something to grumble about. I think I’m about done here, it just needs to stay warm. Let’s go outside until the others join us.”

She gave Caleb some bottles of wine to carry and Cassandra took the pitcher with lemonade. Remy herself picked up the large tray with snacks she’d prepared earlier, and they walked through the length of the house towards the back garden. The large doors in the living room were open, letting in the gentle breeze that came rolling in over the lake.

Many people would disagree with her calling the wilderness behind their house a garden. The undergrowth was much the same as the first time he’d ever brought her there, except for the area that they had cleared out for the large wooden table and the paths cutting across it that led to the different buildings on their land. She put down the platter and took a deep breath. The smell of summer was thick in the air and the humming of insects could be clearly heard. It never failed to bring a smile to her face, even now.

Cullen and Varric sat in the chairs they’d placed on the pier, looking out over the water, their shapes outlined by the bright glow of the afternoon sun. She could hear them laughing as she got closer, the sound instantly making her chest flood with warmth.

“We were just talking about you,” the dwarf smirked when she came to stand next to them.

“Were you now?” she asked, sitting herself down in Cullen’s lap. “It sounded hilarious.”

“He was telling me about the time you spent three hours herding a Druffalo across the Hinterlands,” Cullen smiled, putting his arms around her. “In the middle of a war. Were you embarrassed to tell me that?”

She reached up to stroke his hair back. He’d heard the story before… but it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I guess I feel very strongly about reuniting Druffalo with their owners,” she replied. “You boys ready to come and be social?”

“Social?” he asked her, pulling up an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Caleb is here with Cassandra and soon the others will join as well.”

“Others? Why?”

“For your birthday. We’ll have some friends staying for a while, remember?”

His eyes searched hers for a moment, until his face relaxed and he broke into a wide smile. “Of course. Let’s go.”

He held her hand as they walked back over the path together. Varric had gone ahead and greeted the others, before sitting down at the table and pouring out drinks.

“Hey dad,” Caleb said, walking over to hug him. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. How is your training going?”

“I finished a while ago, dad. I’m a Seeker now.”

“Are you? Well done!”

“Thanks, dad.”

“And he’s doing extremely well,” Cassandra added. “Hello, Cullen. How are you?”

“Lady Cassandra.” He shook her hand. “I would like to discuss some new training schedules with you when you have a moment.”

“Of course…” she answered, glancing at Remy. “I’m sure we can find some time for that.”

“Come,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Cassandra had a long journey today, let’s have a drink. Lea will be here soon with Emily, as well as Josephine.” He smiled and lifted a hand behind her head to pull her close and kiss her on her forehead.

They all sat down and Caleb told them about his work within the Seekers. He’d risen fast in the ranks, which caused some friction with the other members, some of them thinking it was because of Cassandra showing favoritism.

“Idiots,” she scoffed. “They can only ever hope to be half as skilled as you already are.”

“Thanks,” he winked. “I’m lucky to have had good teachers.”

They spent more time discussing the state of the Chantry and life in Val Royeux, while Varric subtly prompted Cassandra for more detailed information. After a while Remy got up to fetch more drinks, and Cullen grabbed her hand. “Where are you going?”

“Just into the kitchen, check on dinner and get some more wine. I’ll be right back.” She kissed him, letting her hand trace down his cheek. “Don’t worry.”

It took a moment for the concern to leave his eyes. “All right,” he said eventually, releasing his grip.

Someone called out from the front of the house when she stepped inside, and she went into the hallway to find Josephine standing in the entrance, a large bag next to her and a bottle with a ribbon around it in her hands. “Josie, you’re early,” she smiled. “Come on in already.”

Josephine smiled brightly and reached out to her as she stepped inside. “It is so lovely to see you again,” she said, kissing her on each cheek. “Thom is gutted he can’t be here yet, but he said he’ll try to join as soon as he can.”

“I’ll keep the good wine in the cellar until he gets here,” Remy winked. “Oh, leave your bag. Caleb can take it up later.”

“Mom!”

A woman came walking up over the dirt road. She had long, dark hair that was tied back in a messy ponytail and bright blue eyes. In her arms she was holding a young girl with thick curls, who laughed happily when she saw Remy and stretched out her little arms.

“Hello, darling,” she greeted, taking the toddler from her daughter. “Lea, so nice you could come.”

“It was quite an effort, mom, walking for a whole fifteen minutes. How is he today?”

“Quite good, actually. You go ahead, I’ll be right out with more drinks,” she answered, handing Emily back to her.

“I’ll help,” Josephine said, and she walked with her into the kitchen. Remy checked on the pots and oven, while Josephine got extra glasses and bottles from the cupboards, all the while commenting on her interior decorating choices. “You’ve had the same old tiles for years now, Remy. I could get you a wonderful deal on some new patterns from Orlais. We used them to redo the guest quarters at Skyhold recently.”

“I quite like my old tiles,” she replied. “But I’m glad to hear you still haven’t given up on bringing Skyhold up to your standards.”

The Ambassador tilted her head and regarded her for a moment. “There are some things we should discuss while I’m here,” she said tentatively. “I brought some matters with me that you need to look at, and we haven’t really talked about who you want to nominate as a successor.”

Remy sighed and poured herself some more wine. “I know, Josie. But can we talk about it after today?”

“Of course,” she nodded, taking the tray. “There’s no rush.”

She disappeared into the hallway and Remy leaned against the counter, swirling around the wine in her glass. Tears pricked in her eyes and she breathed deeply to push them away, when a soft knock sounded from the door.

Familiar grey eyes were looking at her, a mischievous twinkle within them and gentle laugh lines framing their sides. He was dressed in purple and was more tan than ever, his dark hair and mustache flecked with silver and an overly large bouquet of flowers in his hands. She grinned and put her glass away to run towards him, flinging her arms around his neck. He picked her up and lifted her in the air, laughing loudly.

“You’re very early.” She pulled away to look at him. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours.”

“When will you learn, dear, that I always make the perfectly timed entrance? I’d say I nailed it again, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled. “Is Bull with you?”

“Of course, couldn’t keep him away if I wanted to. He went round the back, didn’t want to put his horns through your wall again.”

“Good man. You hungry?”

“Starving. Parched too, actually.”

“All right,” she laughed. “Help me serve this out?”

“Oh, I suppose I can,” he sighed dramatically, before kissing her crown and moving away to fetch a vase for the flowers. She called down the hall to her children to help set the table and they soon appeared to help carry the assortment of pots and plates.

“Uncle Dorian!” Caleb called out, hugging the mage jovially.

“Caleb, look at you! Dashing, strapping knight, like your old man.”

Lea followed closely behind and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve got some new spells I want to run by you, uncle. How long are you staying?”

“Long enough, my dear, I look forward to it. Come now, let’s help your mom carry this feast outside.”

Bull let out a booming laugh and scooped her up with one arm when he saw her, ruffling her hair with his enormous hand. “No, dad, that’s Bull,” she heard Caleb say quietly. “He was with the Inquisition, not in Kirkwall.” Cullen nodded, but didn’t seem completely convinced. To Remy’s relief he soon got distracted by Emily shrieking with laughter in his lap and he bounced her up and down with his legs, mimicking the sounds of a horse’s hooves with his tongue.

Soon enough everyone was eating, drinking, talking, and laughing, and though some of them hadn’t seen each other for at least a year, it was like they’d never been apart. Remy looked around the table, feeling extremely blessed by the company of their old friends… their unconventional family.

 

The wine flowed freely and the plates and pots gradually emptied. When night fell, she went around the garden, lighting the torches and the campfire. Though some of the guests went inside to avoid the night’s chill, others moved towards the warmth of the flames. Varric offered to bring the sleeping Emily to bed and went inside, only to return holding a lute and violin. He handed the latter to Dorian and they started off one of their familiar tunes while Bull performed his part by drumming with his hands on the chopping log. Remy sat down next to Cullen, took his hand, and sang along with the melody. His voice joined hers around the chorus, its sound as beautiful as ever, and Varric took care to pick songs he had no trouble remembering the lyrics from, until eventually he went quiet and she noticed his eyes becoming unfocused.

“Come,” she said softly, placing her hand on his cheek. “Time to go to bed.”

He smiled gently and followed her when she led him inside by the hand, up the stairs, and into their room. While he readied himself in the washroom, she followed the habitual steps of preparing his powders.

“Here,” she said, holding the glass with the mixture out to him.

“What’s this?”

“It helps you sleep. In case you have dreams.”

“Do I need it?” he asked, looking from her to the glass and back. “I don’t dream that much when you’re with me.”

She swallowed. “You don’t remember, Cullen, but there were a few times where it… almost went wrong. It’s just a precaution.”

His eyes grew wide for a moment. “Oh,” he said slowly. “Okay.”

He took the glass and drank down the contents, before handing it back to her and getting under the covers. She lay down next to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling against his chest while he held her close. “Did you enjoy your birthday?” she whispered.

“Hmm…” he murmured, his voice already drawling from the powders taking effect. “When did you have a baby?”

“That was Lea’s baby, my love. Your granddaughter.”

“Oh…” he said. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like you too.”

He didn’t say anything else and she sang softly, feeling his breath deepen in her embrace. Once she was sure he had drifted off to sleep, she slid out from under his arms and tiptoed towards the door.

Dorian was waiting for her, having observed them quietly from the hallway, and he held out his arm as she stepped out of the room. She closed the door behind her, leaving it sightly ajar, and walked over to hug his chest.

“Come,” he whispered after a while, reaching up to stroke her hair back. They went inside his usual room and sat down in the cushioned window sill. He leaned his head against the pane, looking at her fondly.

“So, how is Tevinter?” she smirked. “Reformed yet?”

“Oh, far from,” he chuckled. “It’s like walking up a mountain with a horde of yapping poodles hanging on your legs, and every so often a Mabari jumps out and takes a shot at your dangly bits. Still, we are moving forward, though be it with baby steps.” He continued to observe her, his expression slowly turning serious. “Now tell me. How are you?”

“Fine,” she smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “… Most of the time.”

“Rem.” He leaned over and took her hand. “Talk to me.”

Tears stung behind her eyes as she looked into his and she blinked them away. “Oh, you know,” she sighed. “Most days are like today and then we’re okay. He still adores me, trusts what I tell him. ‘When’ gets a bit muddled sometimes… recently we were back in our early Kirkwall years and all he wanted to do was ravage me behind the wood shed.”

Dorian’s bright laugh was infectious and she felt some of the pressure ease from her chest. He rubbed her fingers between his hands. “That’s not all though, is it?” he asked.

“No…” she sighed, turning to look out the window. The lake was shimmering in the moonlight, the surface almost a perfect mirror. Her hand unconsciously reached up to touch the coin she wore around her neck. “I’m so scared that it’ll get worse. It hasn’t happened often, but at times he goes into a rage; convinced I’m a demon, or maleficar, or… something. It’s helped since Varric moved in, there’s not much that I can do when he gets like that.” She sniffed back the tears that were slowly making their way to the surface. “I don’t understand why this is happening at all. It’s been almost thirty years since he stopped taking it.”

“He also took it for twelve. He’d be much worse if he hadn’t quit, and he’s one of the first who even managed that successfully. With how little we really knew about lyrium back then, there was no way of predicting what lasting effects it would still have.”

“It’s so unfair,” she whispered, looking back at her friend. His forehead was wrinkled in concern, his eyes the same color as the moon reflected in the lake. “No one deserves this, but least of all him.”

“Neither of you do,” he said softly. “But I’m not leaving here until we’ve tried everything we can. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but my last rounds of testing have shown some promising results.”

“Thank you.” She grabbed his hands and held them tightly. “Maker, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, dear,” he said, scooping her up in his arms and dragging her close. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get down to business, so for tonight let’s try to have you relax a bit. What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” she smiled, resting her head against him. They didn’t go back down anymore, but instead spent the rest of the night catching up as they looked out over the water. Eventually Bull made his way into the room and joined them for a while, until she took her leave and wished them both good night.

Cullen didn’t move when she lay down in the bed next to him, the powders having knocked him out cold. She took his hand and pulled it around her. His arm lay limp across her waist, while she positioned herself against his body. With her hand resting on his cheek she pressed her forehead to meet his, silent tears that she could no longer push away running down her face and dampening the pillow under their heads.

 

* * *

 

Remy woke before anyone else the next morning and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, before getting up to get dressed. It wouldn’t be another few hours until the powders wore off, enough time for her to finish her chores.

She lingered in front of the mirror, angling her head as she looked at her body. She was still fit, though not as trained as when she went on regular missions. Her skin was another matter. Deep grooves from the fear demon’s scars dug into her frame, though they were no longer the only marks featured on her torso. New ones had been added over time; brushes with death, encounters with creatures and enemy soldiers, not to mention the long line running across her ribs from just one of several assassination attempts. In spite of all that, her body had still managed to produce three children and as much as she loved them, she wasn’t grateful for the physical strain carrying them had put on her. With a sigh she pulled a shirt over her head and strapped on her mechanical arm, before making her way down the stairs and out into the yard.

The grass was damp underneath her bare feet and she breathed deeply, stretching her arms overhead and twisting her torso from side to side. The sky was clear and it would undoubtedly be another warm day, though for now it was still quite cold. She decided against putting on an extra layer however and grabbed her boots from beside the door, pulling them on before making her way down the path leading to the stables.

Tempest stuck his head over the door the moment she approached and breathed a greeting in her direction. White hairs flecked the chocolate ones around his eyes and nose, but other than that he didn’t look his age at all.

A low rumble sounded from next to them and she patted her gelding on the neck before moving over to look into the other stall. Greyback raised his head and whinnied softly, pushing himself up to a standing position. His motions were stiff as he shook out his thinning mane and walked over to greet her. She stroked the big head, while his soft lips felt about her neck and tickled against her ear. “I had you pegged right from the start,” she murmured to the horse. “You really are like him.”

She walked around the building and entered the paddock so she could open the back doors of the stalls. The horses came out the moment she did, Tempest at an easy trot and Greyback taking small steps in a slow walk while they searched the ground for the best bits of grass. The morning light reflected dully on their coats, the dapples in Greyback’s hardly even visible with how white his hair had turned with age. She retrieved some supplies from the tack room and went to brush the horses down, enjoying the tranquility of the early morning and listening to the soothing sounds of their grazing.

Once their coats were clean from dust and stray bits of straw, she knelt down next to Greyback and spent some time massaging his front leg and muttering enchantments. It had never been quite the same since he and Cullen got hit during one of the many battles they’d fought together. The stallion let out a long breath after she’d finished, and his movements were a bit smoother when he walked away. She collected her things and put them back in storage, after which she leaned against the stable, watching the two roam around the field as the sun slowly rose above the trees.

“They still make a handsome pair.”

She turned to see Dorian standing at the fence with Varric, watching her and the horses with easy smiles on their faces.

“You’re up early,” she smiled, walking over to them. “There won’t be breakfast for a while, you know.”

“I told you ‘first thing tomorrow’, didn’t I?” Dorian said, and he pulled a serious face. “Look,” he said, pointing at it, “this is someone who is ready to get down to business.”

“So you don’t need breakfast then?” she smirked.

“Well… Maybe I meant ‘second thing tomorrow’.”

“All right,” she chuckled. “Let’s get to it then.”

“Do you want me to go?” Varric asked her.

“No, I think I’d like the walk. Do you mind keeping an eye on things?”

“Of course not. I’ll get started inside.” He slapped Dorian on the shoulder and began to walk back to the house, while she climbed over the fence.

“Do you want to come into the village with me? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Don’t they deliver?” he sighed, following her as she began to walk down the road. “How do you manage without servants?”

“I know it’s the worst possible fate you can imagine,” she smirked. “But I actually like doing things myself for a change. Also we can use the exercise, now that our adventuring days are over.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I would never,” she gasped. “Just old.”

Honnleath slowly woke around them as they walked towards the market square. The village had hardly changed since they had settled there. Its borders had expanded slightly, with several new houses added at the edges over the years, but never to a point where it stopped being the tight-knit community it was. Several people raised their hands or called out to her when she passed them by. Some of them recognized Dorian from the times he’d visited, though with his looks being so unlike what they were used to in the quiet Ferelden town, it was not all that surprising that they did. They stopped here and there to chat and eventually reached the village square, where they passed by the different shops to get the groceries for the day.

They were back within an hour, the shopping floating behind them since Dorian refused to carry anything, and unloaded their haul onto the kitchen table. Varric had taken care of last night’s dishes with Lea and they continued to prepare with the others who had woken up, while Remy went upstairs.

Cullen was still asleep, so she snuck back into the bed and lay herself against him. He stirred a while later, slowly blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. They were foggy when they met hers and it seemed to take him a moment to place her.

“Hey,” he said eventually, rolling over and pushing her onto her back.

“Good morning.” Her breath got caught in her throat when he moved down to kiss her neck. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” he murmured. His hands firmly stroked up her sides and he pushed his hips against her. “Do you want to…?”

“Breakfast will be done soon,” she breathed. “We won’t have much time.”

“That’s okay.” He pushed up her shirt with one hand, while his other moved down between her legs. “But you’ll have to be quiet. Last time Meredith almost caught us.”

Her body froze and to her relief Varric called to them several moments later, disrupting the moment before it could go any further.

 

Dorian had not exaggerated. The moment they finished breakfast he went up to his room to retrieve one if his bags.

“What’s this?” Cullen asked, looking at one of the instruments the mage had pulled from the satchel.

“Only a very useful device of my own invention,” he said cheerfully, laying out other items on the table. “It measures… Ah, it will take a while to explain.”

Cullen looked at Remy, his eyebrow raised. “I still have a lot of work to do.”

“It’s okay, love. It can wait a while.”

“No.” He shook his head. “There are people waiting for confirmation before they can continue. If I don’t —”

“We can do this in your office,” Dorian interjected. “I can work around you. All right?”

He frowned and thought a while. “Okay. Just don’t get in the way.”

“…Are you calling me fat too?”

 

For the following days Dorian shadowed Cullen wherever he went, which the other received with moods ranging from minor annoyance to frustrated anger. Fortunately they managed to calm him down each time and he continued to allow the mage to work. At night Dorian sat at the desk in his room, poring over his results of the day and adjusting his plans accordingly.

Unlike the other times he’d come to visit, his luggage wasn’t mainly made up of clothes, but rather books and scrolls detailing his own work and that of others. He rummaged through them, checking facts and numbers, and comparing Cullen’s situation to those of other templars who had followed his example. She often sat together with him and he managed to explain her some of what he was trying to do, though a lot of it still failed to completely register. At some point she stopped asking questions, deciding she preferred he spent his time on the work rather than try to make her understand the details of it.

About a week after their guests had arrived she decided she could no longer put off the work Josephine had brought along, and after dinner she retreated to her own study. She placed the stack with papers on her desk and went to sit behind it, taking a deep breath before grabbing the first sheet off the top. She worked through what was the regular combination of letters, reports, and formal requests, though some of them were dated several weeks ago. Despite her giving her advisors full authority to make decisions in their absence, there were cases where the ambassador’s signature was not enough for the parties involved. Josephine was very apt in fishing out which of the work really needed her consideration, and Remy couldn’t help but notice that the amount had increased since the last time. People were getting tired of the absent Inquisitor. She sighed, rolling her neck, and settled herself in for a long evening.

By midnight she was halfway through the pile and she threw her quill on the tabletop, before raising her arms overhead and stretching her back.

“You’re beautiful when you’re working, you know?”

She raised her head to find Cullen leaning against the doorframe, observing her with a soft smile on his face. He came inside, walked over to the cupboard to fetch a decanter of wine and glasses, and grabbed the second chair from the corner to come sit next to her. “Do you need help?”

“That’s okay.” She searched his eyes while he poured out their drinks. They seemed clear, but it was not always a reliable indicator. “You should probably get to bed.”

“I’m sworn to serve, remember?” he said, giving her a sideways smile and grabbing the next report on the stack. He let his eyes drift over it, his expression slowly growing more serious. His eyes flitted to the date at the top and then back at the content.

“Blackwall made some decisions while we’ve been here,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him it was one of the last orders he’d given himself before they decided he could no longer perform his duties. “I can bring you up to speed.”

“Ah,” he said, relief breaking across his face. “Sure.”

They sat together, his arm gently pressing against hers while they worked through the remainder of the reports. There were a number of times she had to remind him of details or explain the current political situation, but other than that it was just like the many nights they’d spent together in their chambers in Skyhold.

He chuckled at the final letter on the pile. It was by one of their regular correspondents, lady Denevere of Starkhaven. They had met her in person a few times and she was perfectly pleasant, but she had a certain way of expressing herself that was rather… theatrical. Her letters were never about particularly serious matters, but she had been eternally grateful since they helped her out with some matter Remy couldn’t even recall, and felt it her duty to report any and all news she could get her hands on to them. Between Remy and Cullen she had become a welcome diversion whenever she wrote in and a good-humored running joke.

Remy watched him as he relayed the words to her. The new lines around his eyes that crinkled with his laughter, the slight slackening of the skin around his jaw, the dark blond stubble that was now flecked with the same white that ran through his hair… It was the same beautiful face that had caught her eye on the cliffs outside of Kirkwall, though it was softer now, and it was not only him that she saw when she looked into it.

Caleb’s resemblance to his father was so strong that, had she not carried him herself, she might have thought he’d produced the boy on his own. And while Lea and Ali had coloring closer to her own, she only had to take one look at their faces to see Cullen in them as well. Their images were reflected in his eyes, as were the years of memories and experiences that they had shared together. It made her sad to think in such a way when she was alone, but it was overpowered by the sense of gratitude she felt with him sitting next to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, snapping her out of her reveries.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“What do you want to do with this?” He tapped on the letter he was still holding in his hand.

“I’ll write her in the morning,” she replied, taking it from him and scanning the contents. “I don’t have the energy for it right now.”

“All right,” he chuckled.

“Do you remember the night we got her first letter?” she asked after a while. “When we sat together in the war room?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

She breathed a short laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “That was a silly question.”

“That’s okay.” He placed his own hand over hers, and looked at her for a moment until his expression suddenly turned serious. “When do we go back to Skyhold?”

“Not for a while, love.”

“Not? We’re usually back around this time.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, but we decided we wanted to be here more, remember? Since you left your position.”

He frowned and looked at the table. “Right…” he said slowly. “Because of the lyrium, right?”

“… Yeah.”

“Is that also why Dorian is hounding me day and night?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “He’s trying to help.”

“I see.” It was hard to interpret the things stirring in his eyes while he continued to stare intently at the reports in front of them. “Maybe I should go to sleep,” he said eventually.

“All right. I’ll come with you.”

They readied themselves and he sat down on his side of the bed, waiting for her to prepare his powders. When she handed him the glass he didn’t drink, but instead held it in both hands, staring at the contents.

“It is to help you sleep, love. In case —”

“I know.” He looked back up at her. “I don’t want it.”

She sighed and sat down. “You don’t remember, but —”

“I do.” His brow furrowed as he glanced back into the mixture. “I remember. But… if I drink this, I won’t know you’re next to me.” He raised his head and took a deep breath, his amber eyes full of concern. “If you want me to, I will take it. But I’d rather not.”

His words stung painfully in her chest. “All right,” she said, taking the glass from his hand. “Then don’t.”

They looked at each other from across the bed, a sad smile forming on his lips. “Wait,” he said suddenly, and he turned around to open the nightstand drawer. “Here.”

He was holding out the ribbon she had borrowed from Bull. They hadn’t needed it often over the years, though at times it had served other purposes in their bed. The edges were slightly scuffed and the color had faded. She smiled as she took it from him and let the fabric, even softer now than it had been before, run through her fingers. “All right,” she said softly.

A wide smile spread across his face and he got under the covers, holding out his arm for her to nestle herself in. His hand found hers, interlacing his fingers with her own, and with a snap of her fingers the string wrapped itself around their hands, tying into a knot at the end.

His arms were strong around her, holding her close to his chest while he nuzzled the top of her head. His breath gradually slowed and his body relaxed, though he did not let go of her. She could not fall asleep so easily, for her heart was hammering in her chest with joy at the thought of telling Dorian about the evening in the morning. He would tell her not to get too excited, that it wasn’t permanent, and that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. But though her mind told her all this, she could not contain the relief washing over her.

“Rem?” Cullen murmured.

“Yes?”

“When do we go back to Skyhold?”

Her heart dropped. “Not for a while, love.”

 

* * *

 

“Would you be able to manage?”

“It won’t be easy. Though the people’s faith in the Chantry has been largely restored, they trust in the Inquisition partly because you are a separate entity.”

“All major decisions have been yours as much as they were mine. Nothing will change if the army becomes part of the Chantry.”

“We know that, but the people don’t see it the same.”

Remy took a deep breath, taking in the smells around the lake, and let her head hang back on the rest of the chair. “We don’t have to disband the Inquisition. Josie has been drawing up lists of possible replacements.”

“I highly doubt that would work. For one, I don’t think _I_ would trust anyone else in that position. And nor will the people. You _are_ the Inquisition… both of you.” Cassandra shifted in her seat and her expression slowly changed while she continued to watch her. “If the Inquisition would become part of the Chantry, we’d make that work,” she continued. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What will you do? I know you like to retreat here for a few weeks every year, but aren’t you going to go crazy if you’re here all the time?”

“We decided that we don’t want to be in Skyhold if it gets worse. He doesn’t want our people to witness that, and I respect his choice.”

“I understand, and I’m sure you’ll be fine for now. But what if it does get worse?” The years had not softened the Seeker’s direct manners one bit. “Cullen wouldn’t want you to give up your entire life for him.”

“My place is with him, Cass.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just… want you to be sure.”

She sighed and smiled at her friend. “I’m trying.”

 

* * *

 

They gathered outside on the day most of the guests were leaving. The coaches had drawn up in front of the house and there was a short moment of chaos while all the bags were being sorted in their respective owner’s carriages.

Josephine kissed Cullen on each cheek, not able to keep tears from forming in the corners of her eyes, which he regarded with concerned surprise. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual. “Goodbyes make me emotional.”

Remy kissed her, throwing her a warning look, while Blackwall shook Cullen’s hand, and the two got in the foremost carriage.

Cassandra watched them ride down the road, while her own transport pulled up closer to the path. “Goodbye, my friend,” she said quietly when they hugged. “Promise me you won’t forget about yourself.”

“I won’t,” she replied, pulling back. “I’ll let you know soon.”

The Seeker nodded and took a deep breath, before turning away and climbing into the box.

“I’ll send you a first draft of your memoirs in a couple of weeks, Seeker,” Varric called after her.

“Don’t bother,” she grunted. “Knowing you, it’s all nonsense anyway.”

“I work with what I’ve got. It’s not my fault most of your stories are so hard to believe.”

He walked up to the carriage and they continued their bickering, while Remy and Cullen said goodbye to Caleb. Their son rolled his eyes at the dwarf and the Divine, and gave them one more of his father’s smirks before joining her. Cullen put his arm around Remy’s shoulder, and they watched them until they’d disappeared from view.

“Who’s hungry?” she asked after a while.

Bull let out an affirmative grunt, while Dorian answered with a dramatic, “Maker… I thought you’d never ask.”

She laughed and they went back inside, Bull ducking low to fit through the door and angling his head to the side as they walked down the hallway towards the backyard, where they joined Lea and Emily at the table for lunch.

 

Over the following weeks they all settled into their own routines. Though she tried to not let him notice, Remy kept a close eye on Cullen throughout, watching for any changes in his situation. At first every moment of clarity, every comment or look that made him seem his old self, sent a flare of hope through her chest. But each time it got crushed ever more painfully if later on he would repeat a question she had just answered or went up to his study to write reports he’d already written years ago. She didn’t give him his powders anymore, for losing his embrace at night was too much to bear after experiencing it again, though it did mean that they had to go through a lengthy discussion every evening in which she explained to him why it was necessary to use the ribbon, and their sleep was disturbed every few hours by his night terrors.

She avoided her study, where the list of possible nominees that Josephine had left behind lay on her desk. Whenever she walked past the room she could feel it looming behind the door, but she ignored it. At night she lay in Cullen’s arms and looked up at the ceiling, silently asking the Maker for a sign that would tell her what to do. But the days went on as they always did, some better and some worse, without anything happening that would make the decision that was lingering in her office for her.

Varric was sitting at the table behind the house, working out the notes he’d made during Cassandra’s visit, and she sat herself down across from him, sliding a beer in his direction.

“Thanks,” he said, not looking up from his work.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked down the slope where Cullen was sitting in his chair with Dorian next to him. Bull’s enormous shape was moving around in the water beyond them, surfacing with big splashes before diving back down as he swam laps around the lake. Cullen’s hair was a soft yellow in the afternoon light, much lighter than it used to be with so many of the strands losing their color, but no less radiant.

“Have you decided yet?” Varric had stopped working and was watching her from behind his pint.

“No,” she sighed. “I’m not sure I can.”

His eyes narrowed a bit. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to do everything alone. You’ve faced tough decisions before. What did you do then, when you didn’t know what to do?”

She blinked and looked back to the lake. “I would ask him.”

“Exactly.”

“I can’t now, Varric. He might tell me one thing today, but tomorrow he won’t remember.”

“That happens, yes. But he’s been better with all of Dorian’s prodding and poking.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. But even if I’m wrong, he is still him. And he has plenty of opinions on everything, believe me.”

The tension lifted slightly from her shoulders when she chuckled. “All right,” she said, pushing her drink away. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She went to her study, grabbed the scroll with names, and made her way back out and down towards the lake. Dorian was monitoring Cullen with another one of his apparatuses. It was of a circular shape, made out of some black ore with a crystal in the center. It made a humming noise as he held it in his hand, while he held two fingers of his other against Cullen’s temple. The mage was asking him a long list of different questions, all the while carefully monitoring the responses of the gem in his hand.

He held up a finger at her approach, telling her to wait a moment, before retracting his hand and placing the device back in his bag. Cullen had been looking at him throughout the procedure with one eyebrow raised to the sky, but had let it happen without objecting.

“Can I have a moment?” she asked Dorian.

“Of course,” he said cheerfully. He gathered his things and walked the pier back to the house, kissing her on her forehead in passing.

“Hey,” Cullen greeted, extending his hand to her.

“Hey you.” She sat down in the chair next to him, taking his hand between her own. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Okay.” He turned towards her, looking at her expectantly.

“Do you remember why we came here?”

“We always come here,” he laughed.

“I know,” she smiled. “But we came earlier this year than usual, and we’re staying longer. Do you know why?”

A deep crease formed between his eyebrows while he thought. “Yes… I made a mistake.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It was okay, don’t worry. But the lyrium withdrawal was getting worse.”

“Right,” he nodded. “I do remember that.”

“Okay. Well… I’ve been working from here, but it’s getting harder. I can’t attend meetings or make appearances, and some of our allies are questioning the Inquisition’s leadership.” His eyes flitted between hers, concern written across his face. “I have to make a decision,” she continued. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“What are your options?” She couldn’t count how often he’d asked her that question. Answering it had never failed to relieve some of the burden of whatever issue she’d been dragging around with her before seeking him out. She took a deep breath, let go of his hand to unroll the scroll, and handed it to him.

“The first is to nominate a successor to take my place. These are the candidates that Josephine proposes.”

He studied the list, but glanced back at her uncertainly. “I recognize the names, but I’m not sure anymore who they belong to.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “If that’s the way we go, I can figure that part out.”

“All right.” He rolled up the paper again and handed it back to her. “Tell me the rest.”

“The second option is to disband the Inquisition. The army would become part of the Chantry, under Cassandra’s leadership.”

“Okay,” he nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Is there a third?”

She swallowed. “Yes. I remain Inquisitor and divide my time between here and Skyhold. At times I would have to travel as well.”

He continued to look at her intently. Although she could see his mind working behind his eyes, she wondered how much of what she was telling him was really getting through.

“I wouldn’t come with you,” he said slowly.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t.”

“What do you want to do?”

She huffed a small laugh. It had always been the first thing he’d asked after she had laid out a situation before him. It had annoyed her at times, for the fact that she didn’t know was exactly the reason why she came to him, but somehow it had usually managed to lead her to the right decision.

“I don’t know. The Inquisition is still important. I’m not sure what would happen if it went away or someone else took over. But I don’t want to leave you.”

“Remy.” He took her hand and closed his other over it. “If you resign, it should be because you want to, not because you are worried about me.” He smiled at her. “Forget about me for a moment. If I had simply decided to quit my position and lived here, would you still want to be the Inquisitor?”

She blinked a few times in quick succession, before turning to look out over the lake. Why was she still the Inquisitor? After Corypheus, new issues had arisen and while Cassandra tried to rebuild the Chantry they had been instrumental in restoring the world and keeping the peace. The political game never ended, of course, but that had never been what drove her. Their people were important, and making sure as little of the common folk got caught between the maneuvers of the elite. But with the situation being relatively stable for the last years… was that what had made her continue?

Cullen’s hands were warm on her skin as he slowly stroked her fingers and her forearm. She looked at him, and found the smile that had carried her through whenever she’d felt worn out by the endless problems being thrown their way. The answer that had been eluding her for weeks slowly surfaced in his eyes, and suddenly she couldn’t understand why it had been so difficult. The scroll slipped to the floor when she moved to sit in his lap, bounced off the wooden pier, and fell into the water with a soft splash.

“Don’t you need that?” he asked, looking around her towards the water as he put his arms around her waist.

“No. We’ve done our job, and we’ve done it well. There is no need for a new Inquisitor. I trust Cassandra and Leliana to take care of our people the way that we would.” She slowly raked through his hair with her fingers. “The original Inquisition knew when to lay down its banner, it’s time we follow its example.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You won’t miss it?”

“I’m sure,” she smiled. “It was only ever fun when we did it together anyway.”

He pulled her close and they looked out over the lake, his arms keeping her warm as the sun faded and the night’s chill began to creep over them, his fingers slowly tracing up and down her spine. “So what now?” he asked after a while.

“What do you mean?”

He reached up to stroke her hair back. “What will we do?”

His eyes were bright, flecks of gold reflecting in the last light of the day, and they looked at her with more affection than she’d ever felt she deserved. She took his face in her hands, slowly letting her thumbs brush across his scruff, and leaned in to kiss him.

No matter how many times she’d done it before, it did not change the flutter in her heart whenever she did it again. His lips played against her own, anticipated where they would go and caught them between them in all the right ways. When she was younger such familiarity might have seemed boring to her, but fortunately age and experience had allowed her to understand just how invaluable it was.

She pulled away and returned his smile, before resting her forehead against his.

“Whatever we want, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks a lot for reading this story and if you have a moment I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. :)_   
>  _Also, if you would like more of Rem and Cullen, don't forget to check out the sequel I am starting[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4233111), which picks up after the events of DA: Inquisition._


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